


Love, Unrequited

by TomFooleryPrime



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Hearts, F/M, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Lost Love, Love Triangles, Making Up, Moving On, Second Chances, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomFooleryPrime/pseuds/TomFooleryPrime
Summary: An excitable Russian, a frisky Orion, a cocky Starfleet captain, a striking science officer, a grumpy doctor, and a quiet nurse weave a circle of heartbreak and healing. A story for the almosts, could-have-beens, and ones who got away, as told by the happy endings.





	1. 2257: Pavel

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this shortly after Beyond came out but never published it. Something about seeing a half-naked Chekov get thrown from an Orion woman's quarters in the opening scenes of the film triggered my muse. A lot of angst with a happy ending.

**2257  
** The glacial air of the computer lab on that Sunday morning reminded him of a Novosibirsk spring. His fingers were sluggish and tingling – it was a wonder he couldn't see his breath.

He was running his ninth simulation, knowing it would fail like the others. It didn't matter: the joy was in the attempt.

Despite solid experiments describing the quantum behavior of the gravitational field and the unification of the three non-gravitational forces within a single mathematical framework, no Federation scientist had yet found a way to link the two theoretical constructs.  _A theory of everything_.

Why should  _he_ , a sixteen year-old from southern Siberia, be the one to complete the puzzle of the universe in a frigid basement at Starfleet Academy on a random weekend morning while most of his classmates slept off their regrets from the night before? While others might ask  _why_ , Pavel Chekov preferred to ask why  _not_. Why  _not_  him?

A soft chirp from the terminal alerted him to his ninth failure. He groaned, toggling back to a recent research paper on causal dynamic triangulation.

A beep, a swoosh, and a clicking of shoes on the hard floor captured his attention.  _A janitor, perhaps_?

He turned in his seat. No. _Her_.

The cadence of his heart faltered as she came into view. Her green skin and vivid hair accentuated the vibrant personality that had drawn him to her from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her two years ago.

He whipped around in his chair and stared at the screen, trying to appear casual. She turned the corner and approached the long bank of computers and yelped.

He froze, his muscles contracted and eyes wide. "I deedn't mean to scare you."

Her high-pitched laugh echoed off the room's hard surfaces. "You didn't! I wasn't expecting to see anyone here. How are you, Pavlov?"

After two years and many shared classes, she still didn't know his name, but then again, after two years and many shared classes, he'd never worked up the courage to correct her.

She strode down the narrow aisle of computers to take a seat next to him, allowing her fingers to drift over the touch screen monitor and ignite the hum of the duotronic equipment.

"I am good."

" _Great_! What are you working on?"

"I-  _uh_ -" He wasn't eager to explain his audacity in thinking he could solve the biggest physics question sentient beings had ever devised, so he took great care to limit his accent and replied instead, "Extra credit."

"Ha, like  _you_  of all people need extra credit," she grinned. "I'm struggling just to pass Spock's Advanced Programming Language Theory class, but I bet you had the highest grade on the last test."

He gulped and nodded. Not only had he had the highest grade on Commander Spock's most recent exam, he'd received perfect marks.

"I deed ok."

She bumped her shoulder into his in a swinging, playful motion, rolling her head to look at him. "Do you think you could help me with my midterm project then?"

His pulse quickened and he noticed just how dry his mouth felt. "I-  _uh_ \- ok."

He'd never denied how completely enamored he was with Gaila, but he'd also never denied the fact that almost every other male on campus was too.  _And_  a lot of the females.

The rational part of his mind knew it was likely a trick of her unique biology, but his youthful, curious side saw the toss of her red curls and the moisture on her golden lips and threw rationality aside for the prospect of something more.

She produced a jumble of code, pouted, and murmured, "I've been working on it for weeks and I'm out of time: it's due tomorrow."

His eyes scanned the long strings of characters. He could feel her eyes on him, hopeful and probing, and despite the cold, he realized he was sweating. Orions had superb olfactory senses.  _Would she notice_?

"Uh- m-may I?" he mumbled, pointing to the monitor.

"Of course," she beamed, leaning back in her chair to permit him to reach across her and scroll through her work.

It was a mess. Debugging his own tidy lines of code was tedious enough, but Gaila had created a gauntlet of functions and stacks that made little obvious sense and had annotated  _none_  of it.

"I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?"

He glanced back at his own computer. Proving a theory of everything and debugging Gaila's code were both virtually impossible tasks, but given the choice, he'd take the one with the beautiful woman attached. "Not at all. Let us start from ze beginning, ok?"

She pushed her chair back, allowing him to move closer to the computer. And  _her_. Once she even leaned in close enough to allow her thick coils of red hair to tickle the back of his neck. The effect was electric. He wasn't sure whether she was oblivious or accustomed to her natural charms, but he found himself purposefully skipping over errors just to extend his time with her.

They kept their heads together for hours, trailing line by line through the jungle of code she'd created. The more he explored, the more he realized she was smarter than she let on; her only problem was that she was careless. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep up the charade forever, and by late afternoon, Gaila had a functional program.

She reeled back in her seat and gave him a pointed look. "I don't know what I would have done without you, Pavlov."

His eyes flicked around the lab. A few others had come and gone throughout the morning, but they were once again alone. He could feel the beats of his heart thundering in his chest as he forced himself to make eye contact with her bright, blue eyes. Boldness surged through him and his mouth started to form words almost as if on instinct.

"I- I- I think you are… wery beautiful."

His confession earned him a look of lively surprise.  _Why had he said that_?

"Why thank you."

He could feel air whistling through his open mouth and the pop of his knuckles as they twisted into nervous fists. Then her golden lips did something he'd never dreamed and delivered a chaste kiss to his right cheek.

"You're the best, Pavlov."

She swiped her slender fingers across the screen to save her project. She was leaving –  _it was now or never_.

"Gaila-"

She canted her head in his direction, traced her bottom lip with her top row of teeth, and blinked slowly several times.

"Gaila, would- I would like- would you-"

"You're a really sweet guy, Pavlov, but you're just a kid," she interrupted. "Aren't you only fifteen?"

Though there was no hint of scorn or mocking in her melodic voice, her words cut through him like a chainsaw.

"Six- sixteen."

She frowned, offered a sharp sigh, and allowed her seductive eyes to skim along the features of his face. "Maybe you could come find me in a few years, you know? But in the meantime, don't go missing something you never had."

Time stood still as she cut the hole in his heart even deeper. "I- I- uh-"

Her eyes narrowed. She cradled his cheek and considered his face before leaning to whisper in his ear, "The galaxy is full of beautiful women who deserve you more than I do. Go find them."

Then she was gone. He sat alone in the lab for several minutes, listening to the staggered rhythm of his heartbeat. He wasn't ready to take her advice.  _Yet_.

 _But maybe someday he would be_.


	2. 2258: Gaila

**2258  
** It seemed impossible that someone could be as smart, funny, and good with his tongue as James Kirk, but he was everything she wanted – arrogance, brilliance, and charisma made flesh.

 _And what flesh it was_.

The sex was incredible, but what Gaila really loved was his mind.

He was more than smart and educated: he was clever in a way that was erotic and alluring. He got great grades without even trying and was willing to help her with her coursework without her even asking.

That was how it had started. Four months ago, she had been in the lab on a Saturday night struggling to debug a program and he'd come in, found two missing semicolons, shot her a wink, and then prepared to go on his way.

She'd turned on the charm and in a brash moment of impulsivity, they'd had sex right there on the after hours lab floor, knowing anyone could walk in at any time. He was so willing to indulge her appetites and so fearless in the way he went about it.

She'd seen him on and off for several months after that, but something had changed in the past two weeks. She used to suspect he was just using her for sex – or he  _thought_  he was using her for sex, when in reality it was quite the opposite – but they were growing close to each other. For the first time in her life she began to wonder if she was really, truly,  _wholly_  falling for a guy.

They used to go back to her room until she found out just how much Nyota hated Jim, then they went to his room, but his roommate was  _weird_ , and so they settled for having adventurous dalliances all over campus. They spent a lot of time in the after hours computer lab where she worked as a senior intern, and because a lot of cadets came and went during the evenings, they would sneak up to the simulator observation decks and have some wild,  _incredible_  sex.

When she was done exploring his body, she loved having the chance to explore his mind. Just last night, they'd spent hours in Deck 5 where Academy observer-controllers monitored command track students as they negotiated the  _Kobayashi Maru_  scenario.

He'd confessed his disappointment in failing it twice, but she'd explained it wasn't a pass or fail scenario; it was just designed as a test of moral courage and character. He was retaking soon and had asked if she had any pointers, but she'd admitted that just because she had access to the mainframes didn't mean she knew the best way to actually  _beat_  the scenario. Thankfully, he'd seemed to understand, but she knew it still bothered him, and that just made him all the more attractive. He wanted to  _save_  people and couldn't accept the idea of a no-win scenario.

Gaila tapped her foot anxiously under the desk and chewed her thumbnail. Even just thinking about him made her feel flustered. She'd decided that morning to swear off other guys and felt completely confident in her choice. James Kirk was it for her.

Her eyes flicked toward the clock –  _2251_. Nine more minutes and her shift in the lab would be over. She'd been tempted to skip out early since she'd been alone since 1945, but Commander Spock did random checks, often during the last minutes of a shift, and she'd had too many close calls already. She could wait nine minutes, even if it felt like  _torture_.

She and Jim had arranged to meet back at her dorm because Nyota planned to spend the night in the long-range sensor lab. The fear of getting caught in the observation decks was exciting, but the idea that they could just be themselves in the privacy of her room filled her with nervous ecstasy.

 _She was going to tell Jim she loved him tonight_.

She continued to watch the clock count down until 2300, but one minute before she was supposed to leave, her computer dinged, alerting her to a new message.

It was from  _him_.

A girlish smile streaked across her face as she opened the message, and then quickly fell into a confused pout. The message was  _blank_.

She refreshed the message and then the power went out in the lab. Just as the shock of being surrounded by unanticipated darkness started to fade, the lights came back on and her computer screen illuminated.  _That was strange_.

She saw the clock turn to 2300, shrugged off the unusual power surge, and wheeled around in her chair. She almost skipped out of the lab, and when she arrived at her dorm room, he was already waiting for her, sporting a crooked smile and a posture that begged to be touched.

"Did you get my message?" he asked, leaning his forearm against the doorjamb as she swiped her card in the door.

"Yeah, but it was empty," she said.

" _Empty_? That's so weird, I-"

She grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him into the room, sliding her tongue across his lips. He returned her kisses hungrily and they began to stumble backward around the room divider.

"You're  _sure_  it was empty?" he asked, pulling away from her.

"Yeah," she frowned. "But who cares? You can tell me what it said later. For now, I  _want_  you."

They started staggering backward again, shedding their clothes as they progressed to her bed. They were down to their underwear when she pulled him on top of her and began to nuzzle his neck.

Her feelings threatened to overwhelm her until finally the words fell from her mouth. "Jim, I think I love you."

 _A pause_.

"That is  _so_  weird."

There was a moment of numbness, followed by a flash of annoyance.  _She'd just poured out her heart to him, and he thought it was weird_?

She turned the lights on, and asked, "Did you just say 'that is so weird?'"

He started to stammer a weak excuse and she became acutely aware of the erratic throbbing in her chest.  _Had she been wrong about his feelings_?

Then she heard the door locks disengage – of course Nyota decided to come back  _now_.

Nyota wouldn't understand how she felt about Jim, and if she tried explaining she was serious about him, Nyota would certainly roll her eyes. It also didn't help that there was bizarre animosity between her boyfriend and her roommate, and all she wanted to do was avoid conflict.

Unfortunately, conflict was unavoidable, and so was the subsequent embarrassment when Nyota demanded the "mouth breather" under her bed identify himself. It went downhill from there.

Nyota threw him out and Gaila never got the chance to talk to him before the door slid shut in his face, and she never got the chance to explain to Nyota either, who continued to hurl insults about Jim as she raced to change into civilian clothing to meet up with her "secret" boyfriend.

 _How could Nyota be so self-centered_? Gaila didn't exactly adore Commander Spock either, but she kept her mouth shut and defended her roommate when people gossiped.

She flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Orions had such great intuition, but she wondered if she'd completely misread him. She reached for her PADD, scribbled out a quick message asking to meet up with him and talk, and waited anxiously for a reply that never came.

Her heart began to slide down a gentle slope into despair. She tried finding him in all the usual places, sent two more messages, and even once went by his room.  _Nothing_.

Then three days later she was called down to Admiral Barnett's office. Dread and anxiety mingled with her loneliness and growing rejection.  _Had someone told on her late night flings in the lab_?

When she arrived, she found the Starfleet commandant perched at his desk and Commander Spock standing by his side.  _This was bad_.

"Admiral," she said deferentially, reporting in the customary manner.

"Cadet Gaila," Admiral Barnett said. "Please have a seat."

She slid into the hard, empty chair across from the wide desk and gave a pained smile. Confessing to her sexual trysts in the computer lab was bad enough, but confessing them to the most senior Starfleet officer and her roommate's illicit boyfriend made it so much worse. Spock wasted no time.

"Cadet Gaila, did you install a cheat patch into the  _Kobayashi Maru_  simulator?"

"Look, I-  _what_?"

"The  _Kobayashi Maru_  simulator. Were you on duty in the after hours computer laboratory on stardate 2258.39 at 2259 hours?"

"Four days ago?  _Probably_? That's-" She faltered.

She was about to say, "that's my regular shift" when she remembered the strange message from Jim and the power outage one minute before her shift ended.

"Cadet?" Admiral Barnett probed.

"I'm being accused of installing a cheat patch in one of the command track simulators?"

"Yes, it took time to trace, but it was delivered to the computer's tertiary mainframe via a virus sent from your academic account," Spock explained.

"I will remind you this is not a disciplinary hearing," the admiral said. "But you may want to consider your answers carefully, as there are severe consequences for cheating or assisting others to cheat."

"Did you install the patch?" Spock asked again.

" _No_!" she blurted.

And it was the truth, as far as she  _knew_ , but something wasn't right. Her mind raced, trying to piece it all together. The whole school was buzzing about James Kirk beating the "impossible" test, and all it did was serve to remind her that her boyfriend, the man she was willing to give up all other men for, never messaged her back.

Then it clicked. He'd been asking about the  _Kobayashi Maru_  and its programming, they'd been up on Deck 5 and he'd been more interested in the computers than he had her, and then they'd talked about… backdoor computer viruses and the lab's security protocols.

 _How could she have been so stupid_?

"Did you allow someone else to access your account?"

"No," she replied.

She hadn't  _allowed_  him to: he just helped himself. She had been terrified when she walked into the commandant's office, but now she just felt numb. James Kirk had  _used_  her to get what he wanted and then tossed her aside.  _How could anyone do something like that_?

"Cadet, I will remind you that the penalty for academic dishonesty may include expulsion from Starfleet Academy," Spock added.

She gazed at Spock and it clicked. Spock already  _knew_. He was  _logical_. He wouldn't have summoned her down here if he didn't have proof, but telling the truth about how she didn't deliberately hack the tertiary mainframe would also require her to explain how she'd snuck Jim into the lab for sex.

She shot Spock a serious look and replied, "There are severe penalties for a  _lot_  of things at Starfleet Academy."

His left eyebrow arched, and though she knew she'd struck a chord, she regretted it the instant it came out of her mouth. She had no loyalty to Commander Spock, but by threatening him, she was also threatening Nyota, and for all their disagreements, they were like sisters.

"Look, I will say that I did not intentionally install a cheat patch. I think it may have come through my messages, but it was not from a message that I sent."

"Who sent it?"

She bit her lip and stared hard at the stone-faced Vulcan. He looked so cool and collected with his arms tucked neatly behind his back. He already knew; he just wanted her to say it.

"You already know, I'm sure."

"Cadet Gaila," Admiral Barnett interjected. "We could have convened a hearing, but Commander Spock wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. If you cooperate, I do not intend to seek punishment."

She looked down at the floor and sighed.  _Where did her loyalties lie_?

Several hours later, she found Jim in a main corridor, joking with several of his friends. They sensed her approach before they saw her – an inevitable consequence of Orion pheromones – but she didn't care. She stormed up to him and said, " _A word_?"

"Now?" he said, looking around and rubbing the back of his head.

" _Yes_ ," she snapped, grabbing him by the wrist to drag him down a quieter side hallway.

She ignored the laughs and jeers coming from his friends and hissed, "You  _used_  me!"

"What?" No," he argued.

"All those hours in the lab. The message. The cheat patch and-"

His eyes grew wide and he hissed between his teeth. "First of all, please keep your voice down, and second of all, I don't know what you're talking about."

" _Really_? Because I just got called down to the commandant's office to explain why I sent a virus into the tertiary mainframe to override several sections of code in the  _Kobayashi Maru_ simulator, a test which I seem to recall you just  _beat_!"

"Please lower your voice," he insisted.

"They were going to expel me, Jim."

His face contorted into a concerned expression. "I'm- wow- I'm-"

 _Was he about to apologize_?

"You didn't  _tell_  anyone, did you?"

" _No_ , actually, but I'm on restriction until further notice and I lost my lab privileges, including the work study I was getting from the lab that I needed to graduate."

She felt tears pricking her eyes. He told him she loved him, and he thought that was weird. She'd kept quiet for him and took a severe punishment, and he didn't care.

Something close to contrition washed over his face. "Look, Gaila, I'm sorry."

"You're  _sorry_? You used me! What is  _wrong_  with you?"

"Come on, it's not like you don't use half the male cadets on this campus in some way or another."

Her mouth hung open, and she was unsure whether to attribute it to rage, shock, hurt, or disbelief.

"Look, Gaila, I really  _am_  sorry. I don't know what to say."

It didn't matter.

_Even if he could string together a few words into a genuine apology, she wouldn't have heard them over the silent sound of her heart breaking._


	3. 2259: Jim

**2259  
** Everywhere he looked, the bright holiday lights of a dozen Earth and Federation traditions glittered and glowed. He barely noticed. New Year's Eve was a beautiful time, but Jim Kirk was with a beautiful woman.

To be fair, Carol – Lieutenant Marcus, as she so often corrected – hadn't jumped for joy when he asked her to go ice-skating at the synthetic rink at Tucker Memorial Park, but she'd still agreed to come. It was warm for a mid-winter night in San Francisco and the park was alive with thousands of people waiting to usher in 2260 – a new year, a new decade, a new start.

For Captain James T. Kirk, it would also mark the beginning of his five-year mission aboard the soon-to-be commissioned  _USS Enterprise_. After everything that had happened – losing Pike, losing so much of his crew, the devastation to San Francisco,  _dying_ , and finally defeating Khan – he desperately needed a fresh start. He wanted to feel whole again, and he felt quite whole when she tossed one of her careless smiles at him.

He'd had a lot of flings over the years, but Carol was something different. She was witty, funny, and willing to break rules when necessary. She was everything he wanted and nothing he didn't. He was hesitant to say perfect, but he had yet to find a better word.

He leaned against the side of the rink to watch her as she twirled with casual grace on a pair of thin blades. He chose to watch her not only because she was incredible, but also because he was a terrible ice skater.  _Why_ had _he come up with this idea_? Probably because she'd made a comment about him being too cocky and wanted to see him out of his element.

"Come on," she called, waving him forward. "You're not going to learn to do this sitting on the sidelines."

He should have picked a way to be out of his element that wasn't an immediate guarantee that he would look stupid and end up with a lot of bruises, but it was too late for that now. He pushed off from the side like a fawn on new legs, slipping and scratching his way in her direction. Where she was lithe grace and fluidity, he was stomping brute force and clumsiness.

She spun around him in a tight circle and grabbed his waist, nearly putting him off his feet. A few other skaters flew by, causing Jim to toss an indignant sneer in their direction.

"Don't mind them," she laughed.

 _Why did her accent send shivers down his spine_?

"I  _don't_ ," he retorted.

" _Good_ ," she replied, letting go of him to swirl around in a playful pirouette.

"You could make anything look easy," he grinned.

"And  _you_  could make anything look painful."

As the words trailed from her mouth, his skate prophetically hit a rut in the ice, pitching him forward onto his hands and knees and forcing him to grimace as sharp pains coursed through his legs. He laughed in embarrassment and glanced up to find her standing with her arms crossed, the epitome of wry superiority.

"Let's get you up," she said, extending her hands.

She pulled him to his feet with surprising strength and when he started to slide forward from overcorrecting his balance, she caught him under the arms. Even though her eyes were laughing at him, he couldn't pull his gaze away from her face. A chorus of cheers echoed through the sparse crowds on the ice rink and through the park.  _Ten minutes until midnight_.

"I guess this is it," Jim shrugged, looking around at all the skaters and partiers. "Good riddance to 2259."

"It wasn't all bad," she argued. "I met  _you_."

His heart surged. He dared himself to look at her and saw her skating off again into a lovely spiral. He chased after her, begging his legs to find a way to make the foreign feel of ice skates work well enough to catch her.

It worked a little  _too_  well. He picked up speed and was almost starting to enjoy himself when she stopped abruptly and he careened into her back, sending them both onto the ice with a hard crunch.

" _Oooof_!" she bellowed, reaching for her hip through a fit of giggles.

Jim brushed his hands through his messy hair. "Yeah, sorry about that."

They were  _so_  close. Her ears, cheeks, and the tip of her nose sported a rosy color from the chill of the night air that made her look so alive. She started to push him off of her, but he shrugged and said, "Now that I've got you down here, there's something I need to talk to you about."

Her face fell and she looked away.

"I just- I wanted to ask if you'd join the five-year mission," he mumbled. "The new  _Enterprise_  is getting commissioned in a few months and Starfleet has already signed off on the orders for the new mission and I know Mr. Spock would just love a brilliant fellow science officer."

" _Oh_ ," she stammered. "Oh my God.  _Of course_. I'm actually really honored that you'd ask me."

"You're  _honored_?"

"Well,  _yes_ , considering I forged orders to get on board your ship and my father tried to kill you and the rest of the crew."

It seemed like an attempt at a joke that she realized halfway through wasn't funny. She pushed herself up into a seated position and stared at him, her doleful eyes piercing through him.  _Such eyes_.

"Look, no one questions why you did what you did," he insisted. "The inquiry board cleared you. It would be such a privilege to have you in the  _Enterprise_  family."

"Yes, you rather are like a family, aren't you?" she chuckled.

"And we'd be happy to have you join it," he emphasized.

She leaned back on her hands and gazed up at the night sky. "I don't have much of a family left, really."

He understood the sentiment. He had his mother, sure, but their relationship hadn't been ideal since his years with Frank and his older brother George had left Earth the first chance he got. For Jim, the  _Enterprise was_  family, and he wanted her to have that too. She deserved it.

" _Join us_ ," he whispered, bumping her shoulder impishly.

Her eyes rolled and she leaned back further onto her hands while a thin smile raced across her lips. "You sound like you're recruiting for a cult."

He hung on her every word and move, only vaguely aware that most of the skaters had stopped whipping around them and the cheers of the crowd in the park were growing louder.

"How could I ever say no?" she finally agreed, shooting him a genuine smile.

" _Ten, nine, eight, seven_ …" The crowd's squeals and screams as the year 2260 approached nearly drowned out her words, but Jim didn't care. She was coming on the mission, and that was all he cared about in that perfect slice of time.

Emboldened by her smile, he listened as the crowd finished chanting " _Three, two one… Happy New Year!"_  to lean in and give her a slow, intimate kiss. Unfortunately, she turned her face at the last moment to shout along with everyone else and his kiss landed on her cheek just by her lips.

 _Not one of his smoother moments_.

Her head snapped back and she stared at him in wide-eyed shock. " _Jim_ \- Captain Kirk, I- perhaps it's not appropriate-"

The cool night air started to feel a lot colder. She leapt to her feet and headed for the exit ten meters away, and his incompetent feet were slow to follow. He found her sitting on the bench by their bags, pulling one of the white skates from her feet and stuffing it into her bag.

"Look, I didn't mean to-"

"Why did you ask me to come on this mission?" she said, her accent making her words blunt and piercing.

"Because you're a talented science officer," he replied honestly.

And that was the truth. The fact that he was falling in love with her was just a minor, secondary truth.

"I don't think it would be appropriate for us to be involved if you're going to be my captain," she explained.

"Starfleet fraternization regulations-"

"Exist for a reason," she interrupted.

"Well, I was going to say 'are flexible,' but sure, yeah, that too, I guess." He rubbed both of his hands through his hair and watched her pull the other skate off.

"I cannot be involved with you if you're going to be my superior," she said simply, giving him a pained look.

He slumped down next to her, arms hanging loosely between his legs and asked, "If I weren't going to be your captain, what then?"

She held her breath and considered him for several seconds. "You're one of the handsomest men I've ever met, James Kirk. And my God, you're smart. I respect the hell out of you as a starship captain and I'd trust you with my life... but never with my  _heart_. I just know too much about you. You devastated two of my friends and I've heard stories about countless others."

"I did a lot of stupid things in the past, but I've grown up," he insisted. "I've been a real ass to a lot of women who definitely deserved better, but-"

"But  _nothing_ ," she shrugged.

She pulled one of her low boots onto her right foot and sifted through her bag for its mate.

"And if I hadn't been a reckless womanizer in my youth?"

"Your  _youth_?" she scoffed. "You mean about six months ago?"

He gave her a pointed look.

"You're asking a lot of 'what ifs' but honestly…  _yes_. In a heartbeat."

She leaned forward and lightly kissed him on both cheeks, stooping to put on her other boot. She stood, slung the sports bag over her shoulder, and offered a contrite expression.

"I understand if you want to rescind your offer," she added.

" _No_ ," he said quickly, looking up at her from the bench. "I meant it when I said you were a talented science officer.  _Enterprise_  would be lucky to have you, if you still want to have us."

She shot him a weak smile and nodded. She patted him on the shoulder. "Happy New Year, Captain Kirk."

 _And then she was gone_.

He cupped his face in his hands, feeling the pinch of the small, rented skates on his feet, the bruise forming on his left hip, and the weight of so many mistakes. He needed a drink almost as much as he needed a friend. He dug through his bag to find the small, Starfleet-issued communicator. There was only one person he knew who knew enough about broken hearts, literally or figuratively, to help him figure this out.

" _Bones here_ ," cracked a thick drawl through the static of the communicator.

" _Hey, Bones, it's me_ ," he replied, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

" _It's two minutes into a new year_ ," Bones slurred. " _Better be good_."

It wasn't though.  _Nothing about heartache was good._


	4. 2260: Carol

**2260  
** Her vision was growing fuzzy as she stared at the images she'd collected from the magnetic force microscope. It was currently 0115 and she was exhausted. She knew she should probably call it a night, but she wasn't ready to leave, not with  _him_  sitting just two meters away and scanning samples from their most recent away mission. She turned in her swivel chair and pinched the bridge of her nose, allowing her thumb and forefinger to massage the area.

"You alright, Dr. Marcus?"

"Of course, Dr. McCoy," she said, sitting upright and giving him a calm smile.

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm beat," he moaned, stretching his arms over his head.

"Yes, me too."

"Wish everyone had your work ethic," he grumbled.

Carol Marcus was rather attached to her work – she'd made some interesting breakthroughs lately – but she'd long ago come to the conclusion that her long hours in the laboratory had more to do with the presence of the casual doctor with the messy hair than her fascination with sample analysis and subatomic imaging.

"Perhaps we should pick up again in the morning, eh?" she replied.

"Can't," he yawned. "I have crew physicals all morning."

She began powering down the laboratory equipment near her station. "I see."

Leonard McCoy was the ship's chief medical officer but he was also an accomplished scientist. He'd spent most of his free time during the past month in the general sciences laboratory, analyzing the molecular structure of the proteins produced by a family of recently discovered retroviruses.

Carol had been working on assembling disordered subatomic particles according to preprogrammed matrices through protomatter intermediates and had been successful beyond imagination. The possible applications of her research were staggering and included just about every major field from mining to medicine. She'd already demonstrated her technology could improve replicator efficiency nearly hundred fold and was preparing to roll out a new series of experiments next month on the transporter.

She'd mentioned her early success to Dr. McCoy and he'd been intrigued enough to agree to coauthor a paper with her on the technology's theoretical use in treating transporter malfunction victims. While she looked forward to testing her hypotheses, she also looked forward to a legitimate reason to spend more time in his company.

She headed for the door but slowed her pace as she realized he was lagging behind her. They reached the threshold at the same time and endured the awkwardness of which person should step across first, but as she expected, he held his hand out and said, "Ladies first."

Before she could reply, an audible growl escaped her stomach. Had she worked all the way through dinner?

He gave her one of his signature, crooked grins, sending her stomach into flip-flops. "I was going to stop by the mess for a late supper," he drawled. "Care to join me?"

Was he really inviting her to share a late night meal? "Certainly."

The strolled down the corridor in step with one another, the click of their shoes on the smooth walkway echoing in harmonious cadence. They rode the turbolift down to Deck 8 and entered the 24-hour mess; Carol was pleased to find it completely empty.

They stopped by the replicators to collect their meals and selected a table near the center of the room. She tucked into a bowl of tomato soup while he scarfed down a large pizza with both hands.

"So, how are your retroviruses coming along?"

He swallowed a huge bite of food with a pronounced gulp. "Replicating faster than I can produce medium to grow them in. Worse than a couple of horny rabbits."

An involuntary laugh escaped her lips and she felt her cheeks flush.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking down at his food. "That was pretty crude."

"It's alright," she assured him. "I think you imagine I'm rather more prude than I am."

Carol noticed a growing redness in his face and held her spoon to her lips, considering his reaction. He always treated her differently, more  _formally_ , and she never could figure out why. She didn't want to be Dr. Marcus or Lieutenant Marcus; she wanted to be  _Carol_. She wanted him to be Leonard. She wanted a lot of things. Her cheeks burned hotter.

"Uh, anyway, yesterday I realized one of the samples has a transcriptase capable of inhibiting itself," he continued.

"Really?" she asked. "Under what conditions?"

"That's what I still need to figure out. It's definitely promising as a new treatment method for retroviral infections though."

"Of course."

"Some days I wish I was you," he mused, selecting another slice of pizza.

Carol froze, ignoring his failure to use the subjunctive mood of the past tense "be" verb.  _What did he just say_? "Some days I wish I was you" or "some days I wish I was  _with_  you?" The first one… it was definitely the first one.

"Why is that?" she asked, taking another spoonful of her soup.

"I like medicine, but sometimes I get the science itch and wish I could put off my patients for a few months and hunker down in the lab."

"Medicine is simply the application of science," she argued. "And I know of no one better at it than you."

He smiled, and she instinctively smiled in return. Their eyes met, lingering longer than most people would consider comfortable. Carol's heart surged and the nervousness in her stomach returned.

"Listen, there's something I wanted to talk to you about," Dr. McCoy said, breaking eye contact to stare at the remains of his food.

She noted the slight shift in the pitch of his voice and the awkward pattern of his speech. "Yes, Dr. McCoy?"

" _Please_ , call me Leonard. Or  _Bones_. Everyone else does."

" _Bones_ ," she mused, testing the moniker on the tip of her tongue. It seemed both natural and unnatural at the same time.

He chuckled. "Sounds strange coming out of your mouth."

" _Why_?"

"Might be the accent."

Carol shot him a disapproving frown. "It's as though you imagine Americans invented the concept of nicknames."

"Look, Dr. Marcus, I didn't mean-"

" _That_  sounds strange coming out of your mouth," she rebutted.

"Huh?"

" _Formality_ ," she replied. "Though it might be the accent."

His mouth drifted open, giving his face a blank expression. They burst into simultaneous laughter. " _Please_ , you're welcome to call me Carol. You always have been."

He rotated his jaw to conceal a nervous laugh and nodded. "Alright,  _Carol_ , there was something I wanted to talk to you about. To  _ask_  you, really."

Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. "Yes,  _Bones_?"

A momentary, awkward pause lingered over the table and they both erupted into another fit of laughter.  _Was he just as nervous as she was_? Their eyes met again and she realized she was holding her breath.

"Look, I don't usually like to get involved, but you're such a wonderful woman…"

She could feel every nerve, every muscle fiber quivering in anticipation.  _Maybe he returned her feelings after all…_ "Yes?"

"What I'm trying to say is, I know you have your opinions about Jim – Captain Kirk – but he really  _has_  changed. I know this isn't really my place and I shouldn't be butting in, but he's my friend and I like to think that you and I are becoming pretty decent friends too. I really think the two of you have more in common than you realize."

Her mouth clamped shut as her hope evaporated into pain. "I see."

"I know he hurt some of your friends in the past, but we've all done stupid things," he insisted. "And trust me, Jim has done some pretty  _stupid_  things, but he's grown up a lot."

She felt cold and naïve, empty and lost. "Thank you for your insight."

He grunted. "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have said anything, but if you knew how much he really cares about you…"

 _Confusion_. She'd assumed James Kirk had gotten over her the night she rejected him at the skating rink and moved onto the next woman. Apparently she'd been wrong.

"Yes, I see," she replied, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "And I can see how much you care about him."

"Well, yeah, he's my best friend. He'd kill me if he knew I was saying any of this to you, by the way."

His words stung. Dr. McCoy and Captain Kirk were  _very_  close: everyone knew that. Why did she have to be falling for the wrong friend? Her thoughts became muddled. They were both attractive in different ways, and he was right – the captain's demeanor had changed drastically over the past year. But she didn't want to think about Captain Kirk; she wanted to think about the man sitting in front of her, the compassionate doctor and the curious scientist who captivated her with every casual glance and obstinate grumble.

"I should probably get going," he mumbled, rising to his feet and collecting his plate.

"Yes, of course," she replied.

She swallowed hard and stared at the bowl of tomato soup that was growing colder with each passing minute. Contemplating the enormous complexities of friendship, loyalty, and love seemed beyond the abilities of her exhausted mind and all she wanted to do in the moment was wallow in her ache.

She heard the mess door slide open. "Hey, Carol?"

" _Hmmm_?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance. Please think about it."

"Yes. I shall."

He nodded and breezed through the doorway, leaving her alone. She was used to feeling alone though – a distant mother, an absent father, a childhood spent in boarding schools. It didn't seem like a natural way to go through life, and so she'd forged a makeshift family from her friends over the years, holding them dear to her heart and supporting them when they needed help or fiercely defending them when the need arose. Friends were the family that people could choose, and wasn't that how Captain Kirk had described the  _Enterprise_  crew? A  _family_?

Her mind continued to twist around her deep affection for Leonard McCoy and the profound sense of brotherhood he shared with James Kirk. It didn't matter what she wanted – nothing mattered more than friendship. It was the philosophy upon which she'd felt compelled to reject Captain Kirk, and now it demanded she set aside her feelings for Dr. McCoy.

She set her elbows on the table and hung her head in her hands. It would be easy to daydream about what could never be.

_She felt so tired._


	5. 2262: Leonard

**2262  
** "Damn tribbles," Leonard grumbled, looking through the glass of cage number 4.

The merchant on Deep Space K-7 had sold him six of the mop-like mammals, promising they were sterilized. Five of the cages still contained only one tribble each, but the fourth cage from the top held eleven. He didn't have to do the math to know that a second round of reproduction would shatter the glass.

Tribbles were born pregnant and as long as they had a steady supply of food, they reproduced asexually at an average rate of ten offspring every twelve hours. They had departed K-7 nine hours ago. Leonard sighed. Unless he wanted 111 tribbles – give or take a few – skittering around the floor of the clinical lab, he would need to act fast.

"Nurse Heikkinen!"

"She moved to Beta shift last week, remember?" replied a quiet voice from the desk just outside the room. "What can I do for you, doctor?"

 _Christine Chapel_. Leonard's heart quickened.  _How ridiculous_.

"I need to sterilize eleven tribbles, and  _yesterday_ ," he grumbled.

"Say no more," she replied, coming into view through the doorway.

The appearance of her cheerful smile made his heart beat even faster, and he felt ashamed of the teenage boy that apparently still lurked deep within his psyche. Nurse Chapel had only been on board  _Enterprise_  for a month, but he'd liked her from the moment he met her. She was smooth, professional, and quick-witted. Not to mention easy on the eyes.

She reminded him a lot of Carol Marcus, who had left the ship the same day Christine arrived. He'd always admired Carol and would miss her companionship, but she'd decided it was time to hang up her Starfleet uniform and go it as a civilian. She'd developed an incredible protomatter technology and planned to devote herself to it full-time. Leonard didn't blame her: her potential was being wasted trolling around the quadrant on  _Enterprise_.

If Jim weren't going to spend the rest of his life pulling the splinters out of his ass that he got sitting around  _pining_  for her, Leonard might have worked up the courage to ask her on a date. Even if his best friend wasn't madly in love with her, Carol was out of his league anyway. Then again, so was  _Christine_.

"My my, they don't waste any time, do they?" Christine murmured, peering through the glass.

" _No_ ," Leonard replied, his voice snapping more than he intended.

Christine looked down and grimaced. "I'll get this taken care of. Not to worry."

"I'll help you," he muttered, softening his tone. "It'll go faster that way."

"Really doctor, I've got this under control."

"Well, let me know if you need any help," he mumbled.

She touched his arm reassuringly and replied, "You know I won't."

He felt gooseflesh begin to prickle his forearm where her hand had just been.  _What was he getting at_?

Christine Chapel was practically a  _teenager_. Ok, she was twenty-six, but she was still almost ten years his junior. Maybe he was drawn to her out of some sad mid-life crisis, or maybe it was her shiny blonde hair and dazzling smile, or maybe it was the way she seemed to anticipate what he would need before he even knew it himself.

He stalked out of the lab but paused in the threshold, remembering he'd come here to check the status of the medication synthesis he'd started an hour ago.

"It's at ninety-four percent," Christine said, turning to face him and brandishing a blond tribble in each hand. "I'll be sure to keep a careful eye on it and shut it down when the cycle is complete."

Leonard frowned. He didn't trust other people with his work, but Christine wasn't just  _anyone_. She was the only person in his sickbay more careful and exacting than himself. If she kept this up, she was going to put him out of a job. "Just be sure to monitor the-"

"Temperature," she finished. "I know."

"Great. Thanks." Leonard turned on his heel and wandered into the primary clinic area just as Spock entered through the main entry.

"What can I do for ya, Spock?"

"I am here to inquire on the status of your scans on the samples of this morning's away mission."

"You could have called over the comm," Leonard smirked as he made his way to the computer.

"I was in the vicinity of sickbay."

"So you thought you'd pay a social call? I'm touched."

"The nearest intercom happened to be located in sickbay, therefore it was logical-"

"Yeah, yeah," Leonard groaned, strolling over to the intake computer. He glanced at the data. "Well, the scans are  _done_. What did you need specifically?"

"When were they completed?"

"Two hours ago."

"I was unable to access the results from the astrometrics lab."

"I guess the data didn't sync to the ship's main computer," Leonard shrugged.

"Have you experienced this problem before?"

"No."

"Do you intend to troubleshoot the issue?"

"If I remember correctly,  _you're_  the one with the expert computer classification," Leonard yawned.

Spock narrowed his eyes and moved to the computer to look over his shoulder.

"Dr. McCoy, the synthesis cycle is complete and-  _oh_."

Leonard's focus temporarily faltered as Christine's head poked around the entry to the clinical lab. She wore an odd expression.

"Thank you, Nurse Chapel."

"I- um, I was going to say there was a problem with the bicaridine synthesis. I wanted to know if you would like for me to reinitiate it or wait until next week's synthesis cycle. I checked and we have excess quantities of the substitute metorpan."

Her voice had an unusual timbre and her pale cheeks were beginning to turn red. Leonard stared at her for a half second longer than he probably should have, taking in the healthy glow of her face.

"Doctor?"

"Uh- whatever you think is best," Leonard replied. "Thank you, Nurse Chapel."

She gave him a thin smile and retreated back into the lab.

"I have finished, doctor," Spock announced, returning to the data set. "Your computer is now functioning optimally."

"Yeah, thanks for the top notch service," Leonard grinned, slapping Spock on the shoulder. "Hope you got what you needed."

Spock adjusted the fit of his uniform shirt. "I did. Thank you."

The first officer strode from his sickbay and Leonard didn't give him a second thought, but he turned his mind to Christine. She'd seemed nervous just a minute ago.  _Why_? Maybe Spock intimidated her. The dry Vulcan had that effect on a lot of people.

He sat down in the hard chair tucked underneath the computer desk and stretched his arms above his head and rolled his head around on his shoulders, listening to the popping of the vertebrae in his neck. He relaxed his arms, drummed his fingers on the desk, and made a soft whistling sound with his mouth.  _What should he do now_?

His shift would be over in twenty minutes. Annual crew physicals had been completed earlier in the week, his daily log was submitted to the bridge, and all of his lab experiments were currently up to date. There were no patients awaiting treatment, no supplies that needed to be inventoried, and no personnel evaluations to perform. For the first time since he'd boarded  _Enterprise_  four years ago, Leonard McCoy felt  _bored_.

He owed a lot of that to Christine. She wasn't just efficient – she seemed to do the work of five people and did it with a sunny disposition. She was the best nurse he'd ever worked with, and he'd worked with a  _lot_  of good nurses.

He liked Christine Chapel, but a lot of people liked her. It would be impossible  _not_  to like her. She was talented, competent, friendly, and beautiful. It was hard to believe she wasn't involved with someone. He was struck by a wild impulse.  _Why didn't he just get it over with and ask her out_?

He started to rehearse the dialogue in his head and dismissed a number of scenarios as either too cheesy or too confrontational. What was it people did these days? He grimaced. He was horribly out of practice at this and also felt too old for silly games. He would just go up to her and ask her to dinner in his quarters.

He stood, feeling bold and ready to seize the moment. Why had he waited so long? Asking a woman out on a date wasn't temporal theory.

"Good evening, Dr. McCoy," Nurse Heikkinen called, startling him as she marched through the wide doors of sickbay.

"Nurse Heikkinen," he murmured, slinking back in the chair and giving her a lazy two-fingered wave. "You're early."

"Aren't you the one always saying 'if you're not ten minutes early, you're late?'"

Leonard checked the clock on the computer screen. "You're seventeen minutes early."

"Well you know me," she responded cheerfully. "I like to go the extra mile."

" _Yeah, sure_ ," Leonard mumbled under his breath. He watched her turn right into the small sickbay break room and picked at his index fingernail with his thumb. He took a deep breath, checked his reflection in the semi-transparent planning board on the wall, and trooped to the clinical lab.

"Nurse Chapel?"

"Yes, doctor?"

"Would you be interested in having dinner?"

"Tonight?"

He suddenly felt awkward. Practicing the conversation in his head had seemed childish, but he should have at least considered the logistics before asking her. "Yeah, why not?"

"Um, ok."

"Ok. Great."

"Ok?" she repeated, giving him an anxious smile.

"Ok."

He turned and prepared to leave when she called after him, "What time? And where?"

He closed his eyes at his own nervous stupidity, ripped them back open, and turned to face her. "My quarters? 2000 hours?"

She shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"Great. See you then."

He started to turn again, but she asked, "Where are your quarters?"

He froze. How much worse could this get? "Deck 9, Section 2. Room 3F 127."

She flashed her teeth at him. "I'll be there with bells on."

Walking away was like slow motion. He was floating on euphoria. He stood a little taller, feeling glad to be alive. He was halfway into the main lobby of sickbay when the panic set in. He had two hours to clean his quarters and prepare a meal, but he had no idea what kind of food she liked.

He'd seen her eat a small bag of roasted almonds once. What could he make with almonds? He shook his head. She was a woman, dammit, not a squirrel.

The communicator on his belt chirped. He sighed and flipped it open. "McCoy here."

" _This is Commander Spock. The data from the morning's samples is unusual. Have you confirmed these results_?"

"No." He'd turned the samples over to Ensign Ashby, who was probably already gone for the evening.

Rather than ask Spock if it could wait until tomorrow – that pointy eared bastard kept some unusual hours – he added, "I'll go run a diagnostic on the scanner and rerun the samples."

" _Thank you, doctor_."

"McCoy out."

He flipped the communicator closed and trudged into the diagnostics lab, winding his way through the cubicles of various spectrometers, imagers, and microscopes to reach the sample library located at the back of the room. He pulled Spock's original diagnostic request, checked it against Ensign Ashby's log, and was just about to pull the samples when he heard the clicking of shoes on the hard floor and voices growing louder as they approached.

"Any plans tonight?" Maria Heikkinen asked.

"Dr. McCoy invited me to his quarters for dinner."

Leonard glanced at the door and realized they couldn't see him over the cubicle divider. He almost stood up, feeling like it would be rude not to make his presence known, but he hesitated. No one liked eavesdroppers, but they were talking about  _him_.

"What- like a  _date_?"

"No, he was just being nice," Christine insisted. "He's the CMO, I'm the new Head Nurse. I figured it would be good to get to know him a little better."

"So it's not a date?"

"Of  _course_  not."

"Did you tell  _him_  that?"

"He knows that."

"So a man inviting a woman to his private quarters for a private meal is just… your buddy? Pal? Mate? Chum?"

"It's not like  _that_ … Oh my God, you don't think-  _Oh no_. I would  _never_  date anyone I worked with. I mean, he's really  _nice_ , but you know…"

 _Nice_? Leonard's heart started to crack. "Nice" was what people said about other people when there was nothing else to say. It was the kiss of death. It was what friends told their friends when setting them up on awful blind dates. It was at the top of Backhanded Compliments Mountain.

"Really?" Nurse Heikkinen scoffed. "I've seen the way you look at Commander Spock."

"I don't  _look_  at him."

"Lie to yourself but don't lie to me."

There was an awkward pause. "He has a girlfriend and I would appreciate it if you didn't go around starting rumors."

"Oh come now, Christine. We're  _friends_. I would never do that."

The soles of their shoes tapped across the floor again, growing fainter as they left the diagnostic lab. Leonard sat in stunned silence, barely aware he was holding his breath.

Christine Chapel wasn't interested in him; she was interested in…  _Spock_?  _Why_? It didn't even compute. Spock was his friend, but he had about as much personality as a fence post. He never understood what Lieutenant Uhura saw in him, but never really thought about it because that was  _her_  business.

He spent the next thirty minutes numbly reprocessing the samples, trying to keep his mind on his task. It was so much easier said than done. Eventually the scanners hummed to life and Leonard left the lab, manually shutting off the lights as he went. He was almost out of sickbay when he bumped into  _her_.

"Oh, Dr. McCoy, I thought you left." Christine's voice was tinny and odd.

"No, I had to check on a few things," he mumbled, not making eye contact with her. "Listen, I just remembered, I have a lot of things to get done, so tonight probably isn't good for dinner. I hope you understand."

The huge wave of relief that spread over her face hurt. "Oh, yeah. It's not a problem, doctor."

"Good. See you tomorrow," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

He turned right down the corridor and paused at the turbolift to ride down to his quarters on Deck 9 but decided to keep walking. He passed several people, unable to offer more than grim nods and grunts in greeting, and finally stopped outside of the gray, inconspicuous door and hit the buzzer.

Much to his surprise, the door flung open. He hadn't expected him to be here. "What can I do for you, Bones?"

Bones swallowed and glanced at Jim's face. "You can get me a drink. You know how I like it."

"Whiskey neat? In a glass? And a lot?"

"Something like that," he grumbled, wandering into his best friend's quarters.

"That kind of day, huh?"

_Yes, that kind of day. The kind of day when he was grateful to have a friend like James Kirk._


	6. 2265: Christine & Leonard

**2265  
** Christine took her seat and drummed her fingers on the armrest in anticipation. She had seen a lot of planets during the past three years, but none were as beautiful as the green and blue mass visible through the small, starboard portal. Their mission was over. They were going home.

"меня голова," a voice muttered, sliding into the seat next to her.

"Hello, Pavel," Christine smiled. "Drink too much at the farewell party last night?"

"Of course," he grinned, before making a face, clutching his temples, and uttering what she presumed were Russian swearwords.

"Isn't there some Russian cure for hangovers?" she teased.

An announcement blared over the shuttle's internal communications and she noticed his eyes clamp together more tightly, as if he were trying to block out the sound. The shuttle shuddered as it left the bay; they would be planetside in less than fifteen minutes. Chekov rested his head against the headrest and she took note of his gray complexion.

"There's hydrocortilene in the shuttle's medkit," she mentioned, resting her hand on his arm. "Works wonders on hangovers. Do you want me to get you some?"

"An angel, you are," he breathed, patting her hand weakly.

She smiled and stood, carefully sidestepping his knees. She made her way to the front of the cabin, easily located the medkit, and extracted a small hypospray and vial of the analgesic.

As she hoisted the kit back into the mount on the side of the wall, she caught sight of Commander Spock and Lieutenant Commander Uhura. They stared straight ahead, but she could see their hands were intertwined. She felt a small tug in her gut and quickly looked away.

 _Why couldn't she get over him_?

She'd spent most of the past three years caught in a hopeless infatuation with the half-Vulcan science officer, but it was never anything more. He was off-limits; he was engaged to one of her friends. Though she'd developed a good professional friendship with him over time, she'd never completely gotten over her profound attraction to him. She'd kept her feelings close to her heart and had never told a soul, but the people who knew her best had figured it out.

"Hey Christine," a voice called.

She jumped in surprise and turned to see Nyota waving at her. "Yes?"

"Are you going down to The Port of San Francisco Bar after the outbriefing?"

"Huh?"

"It was a last minute thing Scotty put together," Nyota explained.

"Oh, uh, I don't know," she mumbled, thinking that an outing  _did_  sound like fun, but not if she was going to have to watch Spock and Nyota fawn over each other in their subdued and subtle way.

"Well, it's an open invitation," Nyota replied. "Oh, and can you tell Chekov? Let him know Gaila will be there."

"Sure," Christine replied, forcing a smile. "Wait,  _who_?"

"Gaila," Nyota repeated, a grin spreading across her lips. "He'll know who I'm talking about."

"Sure thing," Christine replied, trudging back two rows to find Chekov peering at her.

She sat down and fitted the vial in the hypospray and injected him with 10 ccs of the hydrocortilene. His complexion immediately started to shift.

"There you are," she smiled. "You should be right as rain in about ten minutes."

"I could kees you," he muttered, rolling his head along the headrest to stare at her.

"Well, you might want to save it for the bar later," she joked. "Um, Lieutenant Uhura wanted me to tell you they're going down to the Port of San Francisco. You're invited, and after this hydrocortilene, you should be ready for round two. Oh, and someone named Gaila is going to be there."

" _Gaila_?" His eyebrows flicked upward and he closed his eyes and smiled.

"An old flame?" she teased.

"Beauty like the sun," he beamed.

"Well, I wish you all the best of luck," she laughed, preparing to return the hypospray to the medkit.

"Are you going?" he asked seriously, clutching her forearm and opening his eyes to look at her.

Her eyes instinctively shot in Spock's direction and she shook her head. "I don't- no. No, I don't think so."

Chekov turned his head to see what she was looking at and frowned. "You know, Nurse Chapel, a wery smart person once told me that you should not go meesing someting you newer had."

Her first instinct was to deny any lingering attraction for the handsome science officer, but the stern look on Chekov's face told her not to bother. She offered a pained smile instead. "Some Russian philosopher, I'm sure."

"No," he admitted. "An old flame, with beauty like the sun."

She knew he was right. She'd gone over it in her head a million times – carrying a torch for Mr. Spock wouldn't get her any closer to happiness. She'd turned down so many dates and outings over the years just to get close to him and the only thing it had gotten her was closer to loneliness.

Twenty minutes later she strolled along the landing dock and filed into a large auditorium for the mission outbriefing. She listened to several admirals and civilian bureaucrats speak high praise for their mission. She watched as various members of the crew cycled to the front of the stage to receive awards and decorations – she received a Starfleet Medal of Commendation for her actions three months earlier at the Terra 10 Colony – and listened to more speeches with flowery words and emotional prose.

Three hours later, the captain dismissed them and the entire crew was on leave for three weeks.  _Finally_. She grabbed her black two-day carry-on bag, slinked quickly through the back door of the auditorium, and strolled along the wide, tiled corridor for the exit, the small brass medal bouncing on her blue uniform smock as she moved.

Christine didn't have any grand plans; she didn't have any plans at all. Her belongings had been delivered to the transient officer's billets on the Academy's south lawn, so that seemed like the most obvious first stop, but from there, she had no idea.

Starfleet considered Cleveland as her home of record, but there was nothing there she would call home. Her father had never been a central figure in her life – her parents had never married – and her mother had passed away six years ago in a hovercraft accident. She had no siblings, cousins, or grandparents. She was alone.

And not alone. Starfleet had been like a family over the years and that always felt like enough. She had plenty of friends and close acquaintances – how many times had Captain Kirk called the crew a family over the years? She smiled inwardly.

She'd dated Jim Kirk in her final months at the Academy and he'd broken things off to date an Orion girl whose name escaped her. It had taken a few months but her heart had healed, and now she had an excellent working relationship with the hardheaded captain.

He'd grown up a lot since his brash and womanizing years at the Academy, but the more she got to know him, the more she realized things would have  _never_  worked between them. They were different people – a fact that made them well suited to life as colleagues on a starship but would have been disastrous as lovers in a romantic relationship.

But  _now_  she felt alone. The mission was over and she had nothing to do but take a relaxing three-week vacation and wait for personnel resources to give her a new posting; a prospect equal parts exciting, depressing, and terrifying all at once. She wandered through the long glass doors of the administration building and a sharp smile streaked across her face. It was raining.

It could have been a minor annoyance or inconvenience, but how long had it been since she'd seen rain? She thought back to the many away missions on the numerous planets they'd charted. Sure, she'd seen rain within the past few months, but nothing quite beat cold drizzle on a crisp winter's day in San Francisco.

Christine was nostalgic and lonely and hopeful and lost. She hadn't expected to feel this way, but she couldn't remember how she'd expected to feel. She was somehow adrift in the past, present, and future all at once as she watched the misty water descend from the sky.

More people were starting to collect under the covered breezeway of the building while they deliberated how best to tackle the unanticipated weather. Some people just ran into the wet, seeking to maximize their leave time. Others seemed to just enjoy the rain and the sensation of home.

She looked around and spied them a second time, standing shoulder to shoulder with their necks craned, gazing into each other's eyes in a rare moment of distraction. Seeing Spock and Nyota so obviously in love was torture. Christine felt like she had so much love to give, but no one to share it with.

It suddenly struck her – it probably wasn't about Spock anymore. Maybe she just wanted someone to look at  _her_  the way Spock and Nyota were looking at each other, just two lovers oblivious to the rain and everything else but their affection.

The loneliness that she'd narrowly kept at bay for years finally started to drown her. She exhaled a slow breath, shook her head, and ventured out into the rain. She was thoroughly drenched by the time she finally managed to hail a hovertaxi at the curb, but she wasn't sure she cared.

She flopped into the back seat and told the automatic driver her intended destination and watched the screen calculate the estimated time to arrival.  _Forty minutes due to traffic congestion._

She slumped into the cloth seat and closed her eyes, ready to spend the entire ride feeling sorry for herself and simmering in her loneliness, but shouting from the rear of the vehicle startled her. She twisted around to see Dr. McCoy yelling at someone and making an obscene gesture, which caused him to drop the small, black object he clutched to his chest. A sample case, no doubt.

The rain was coming down harder now and he looked so tired, angry, and frustrated. Her cab started to pull away from the curb but she cried, "Wait!" She flung the door open, popped her head out, and yelled, " _Doctor, do you need a ride?_ "

His eyes snapped in her direction and he scurried over to the smooth black vehicle. She shuffled into the other seat to give him room, and when he collapsed into the back seat, she had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. He looked like a drowned rat, with tendrils of dark hair plastered to his forehead and rivers of water running down his chin. She remembered she didn't look much better, but she didn't care. Dr. McCoy was one of her best friends and wouldn't care what she looked like.

"Damn rain," he growled. "And then Crewman Sparks had the  _nerve_  to steal my cab! I told him- I  _told_  him these samples were sensitive-"

"Doctor," she interrupted, pointing to his sample case and pulling open the top flap of her carry-on bag. The bag was wet but its contents were dry. It would have to do.

"… and he doesn't even care!" Dr. McCoy continued. "Now I'm soaked and I'll probably come down with pneumonia."

Christine pulled out the black undershirt she wore yesterday and shot him a pointed look. "Your sample case please, Doctor."

He faltered midsentence and glanced at the case in his hands. She checked the outer seal and label; the case contained the plague samples they'd collected from Dramia a few weeks ago. She started to towel away the moisture with her undershirt and ran her fingers along the case's seal to check for integrity. It had held.

"I hope none of the vials broke," she mused, returning the case to him.

The crew had all been vaccinated against this strain of plague, but she wasn't interested in cracking the case's seal in a public taxi to ensure the sample containers remained intact.

She expected him to keep grumbling about Crewman Sparks and the samples and the rain and the inconvenience of having to share a cab – it was just his way – but he remained silent, looking at the case intently. "Thank you, Christine."

He used her given name on rare occasion, usually preferring to call her Nurse Chapel when he was in good spirits or Lieutenant Chapel when he was mad. She had only ever been  _Christine_  when she'd  _really_  gone above and beyond, or when he was drunk, like at the ship's holiday party the year before.

"For  _what_ , Doctor?"

"For sharing the cab, for drying my sample case, for being  _you_."

His words were…  _strange_. She considered his face – his dark hair made darker from the water and his soft, expressive brown eyes. She would have never hesitated to call him good-looking, but his eyes were wide open and she felt like was peering into the inner depths of Leonard McCoy. Vulnerability was not something she was used to seeing from him.

He loved to whine and grumble as much as he loved science, Southern cooking, and a decent glass of whiskey. He was more kind than curmudgeonly, and Christine always suspected that he suffered from occasional bouts of lonesomeness in the quieter parts of the mission, despite his close friendship with Captain Kirk and Commander Spock.

Something clicked. A vague, worn memory from several years earlier resurfaced. He'd asked her to have dinner in his quarters once and she'd accepted, only to later wonder if he'd intended it to be a date. He'd cancelled at the last minute and they'd never discussed sharing a private meal again.

She recalled Chekov telling her not to go missing something she'd never had, but perhaps she'd always  _had_  something and never thought to miss it.  _Leonard McCoy_?

He blinked. How long had they been staring at each other? Five seconds? Ten? It didn't matter, because the answer was far longer than most people would call socially appropriate. The only people who held eye contact this long were on the verge of physically brawling or having sex.

"Can I ask you a question, Doctor?" she said, her voice cracking slightly.

"Uh, sure," he mumbled, glancing from the window at the cityscape as they inched through the heart of San Francisco. "Shoot."

"Three years ago, you asked me to dinner in your quarters."

"So what's the question?" he replied.

She felt a nervous smile form on her lips. "Well, what I meant to ask was, were you asking me out on a date?"

A definite pause transpired before he turned to look at her. "I suppose I  _was_ , but I got the strong sense you weren't interested."

"What gave you that idea?"

"Well,  _you_  did, to be honest."

" _How_?" she asked.

She  _had_  been a little put off by the idea of going on a date with the CMO and had been relieved when he cancelled, but not because she didn't find him attractive, intelligent, or interesting. She hadn't liked the idea of dating colleagues but her ideas about that had changed a lot over the course of the mission.

Deep space was lonely and isolating and three years was a  _long_  time to be alone. Everyone on the ship was involved with someone at some point and she'd been to no less than seven weddings in her time on  _Enterprise_. Of course, back then she'd also been head over heels for Mr. Spock and would have never thought to look at another man. Maybe she should have.

"I overheard you tell Nurse Heikkinen you didn't date people you worked with," he finally explained.

Her breath caught in her throat. "What if I told you I changed my mind?"

"About dating people you worked with?"

"About  _you_ ," Christine admitted. "Besides, we don't work together anymore."

Leonard blinked. She started to feel very awkward, realizing they had a long drive ahead of them through rush hour traffic.

"Dr. McCoy, I- I think you're a really great person," she murmured, trying to gently back out of her disastrous date offer.

"That's what people usually say when they're turning someone down," he retorted, cocking a bushy eyebrow. He still didn't make eye contact. "You know, things like 'you're really great' or 'you're really  _nice_.' That sort of thing."

She laughed nervously and tried again. "Dr. McCoy… you  _are_  really great and really nice. Would you be interested in going to dinner?"

"With you?" he asked.

"Of  _course_  with me."

"Like a date?" Their eyes finally locked and for the first time in years, tiny butterflies seemed to be dancing in her stomach.

"If you want."

Her cheeks felt warm, and she couldn't be sure if it was the chill in the air but she noted a subtle flush spread across his face too.

"What time and where?" he asked.

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn't really care about the details.

 _What a difference a change of perspective could make_.


	7. 2265: Carol & Jim

**2265  
** Carol wandered down the broad avenue with no real destination in mind, sniffing the damp air and feeling reflective. Her heart was heavy and her mind was full. Several hours ago, she'd received word that the Federation Science Council had accepted her recommendations – they'd chosen not to fund Project Genesis. Not that they had much of a choice, seeing as how she'd destroyed her research.

She was certain it was the right thing to do, but it pretty much meant her scientific career was over. She knew the technology could work wonders if used correctly, but she'd seen the writing on the wall the morning the Federation officials in dark suits arrived on her doorstep, demanding to know more about protomatter stability. She had zero interest in offering up a potentially devastating device to Section 31, especially after seeing the havoc her father had wrought with the secret, rogue Federation agency.

The Genesis Project could have catapulted her into the history books, but she didn't want to find herself written into the wrong pages. She didn't want to know what it felt like to be Oppenheimer or Solkan or any scientist who'd had to watch a momentous breakthrough bastardized into a machine of war. Carol would never forgive her father for the things he'd done, but maybe she owed him a tiny bit for showing her firsthand just how easy it was for revenge, fame, and power to cause a good person to lose their way.

She sighed. She hadn't strayed from the ethical path, but she still felt lost; her work was all she had ever since she'd left Starfleet three years earlier. She'd lost touch with most of her friends – they were either married to their jobs or married to actual people or both – and she'd also lost touch with herself. _Lost_ was the story of her life.

She glanced up from her self-pity and wanderings, realizing she was also _literally_ lost. She'd been on 32nd Street just a minute ago, and now she was on… Tucker Memorial Avenue? She spun around, trying to get her bearings. She'd never been very good with directions, but she'd lived in San Francisco for four years while studying at the Academy.

The city had a changed a lot since she'd called it home though, after a devastating attack in 2258 by the Romulan Nero and another a year later by the augment Khan Noonien Singh. Nothing looked familiar. Why hadn't she brought her PADD with her?

She scowled. She'd left it on the table of the hotel deliberately, thinking she just wanted to be alone. Now that she was alone, she just wanted to be… _un_ alone.

She wandered into a city park. Heavy rains had blanketed the city all morning and into the early afternoon, and now the rays of sunlight peeked through the gray clouds, reflecting off beads of water clinging to the grass and trees. It was beautiful, really.

She traipsed down the wide footpath, avoiding the joggers and dog-walkers and lovers out for a stroll after a late spring rain. She craved some kind of connection to another person, but everyone she passed returned her greetings with curt nods and some form of "hello" and kept going on their way.

She strolled through the copse of trees and found a small pond encircled by a narrow jogging path. Several children ran along the muddy shore pursuing a family of ducks, only to be chased by a small flock of geese a minute later. The parents yelled, the children fell, and everyone got dirty and laughed, excepting a small boy who continued to sob over the indignity of being bitten on the pinky finger by a goose. How perfectly happy they all looked.

She walked for a little ways, watching the birds and the people when suddenly she was struck by a wave of déjà vu and turned full circle. She had been here before, but when? She gazed at the tall buildings surrounding the park, squinting in the bright afternoon sunshine for some familiar marker to orient herself.

"Are you lost, dear?" The voice was a woman's, gravelly but kind.

Carol turned to see an elderly couple sitting on a nearby bench and staring at her. They were holding hands in the sweetest, most sincere way imaginable.

"I um, yes. I was looking for the Bayside Hotel."

"Oh, it's too easy," replied the man, releasing the woman's hand to point down the sidewalk. "If you keep on the trail and walk straight out of the park, it's two more blocks down. You'll run right into it."

Carol turned to look in the direction he indicated, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Ah yes, thank you so much."

"Certainly," the man nodded, returning his attention to the woman who was obviously his wife.

She gave them a polite though pained smile and trudged onward, wrapping her cardigan more tightly around her frame. Her languid pace matched her mood. How had everything come to this?

A cloud shifted, allowing the full force of the sun to engulf the setting. The glare reflecting from the wet cement stung her eyes and she instinctively raised her right hand to shield her face from the dazzling glow. She marched on, feeling exhausted and considering a nap when she made it back to her lodgings.

A tiny sparrow zipped over her shoulder, startling her. She shook her head in wonder and smiled upon seeing its intended destination. Twenty meters ahead sat a lone figure on a bench, feeding a diverse group of birds.

The scene was a cacophony of chirping, honking, and quacking, and the person – it looked like an old man, though she couldn't be sure from the harsh light of the sun – patiently tossed an occasional handful of food at them from a bag on his lap. He looked like he could use a friend, and Carol certainly _felt_ the same way.

She approached casually, but the closer she got, the faster her heart started to beat. She'd assumed he was elderly from the hunched slope of his shoulders and the light color of his hair, but upon closer inspection, she could see his hair was blond, not gray, and his bearing was sorrowful, not twisted from the ravages of age. She knew him. She knew him _well_.

She took several more cautious steps until she stood directly behind him. It took him several seconds to notice he was no longer alone, but as he started to twist in his seat, she said, "Hello, James Tiberius Kirk."

He startled, spilling some of the birdseed in his lap. The instant his eyes fell upon her, a crooked smile spread across his lips. "Hello, Carol Alexandra Marcus."

She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, but she couldn't deny how lovely it was to see a familiar face. She didn't stop to really think about what a handsome face it really was.

"What are you doing in San Francisco? I thought you were working on your protomatter stuff out on Utopia Colony."

"And I thought _you_ were on a five year mission," she retorted, crossing her arms and smiling, despite feeling like she'd just been kicked in the gut at his mention of her failed project.

"It's been five years," he shrugged. "Just got back this morning."

Had it really been so long already? It seemed like just yesterday he was asking her to go on that inaugural mission…

Suddenly she knew where she was. He had invited her to go ice-skating here. It looked different because it had been winter and the pond had been artificially frozen and the streetlamps had been adorned in festive lights, but this was definitely the place. He'd sat on a bench very much like this one when she told him she wasn't interested in a relationship with a notorious womanizer. And now here he was feeding birds.

Several seconds of silence passed between them. Why was he staring at her? She lowered her eyes, realizing she'd been staring at him too. The birds started to get restless from the lack of attention, and one rather bold goose nipped at the bag on his lap.

"Hey, _ow_!" he yelped, shaking his hand violently before reaching into the sack to throw out another handful. "They get so _pushy_."

She clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh and watched his posture stiffen. "Wow, it's really good to hear you laugh. It's been a long time."

"It _has_ , hasn't it?" she murmured.

"Since you've _laughed_?"

"No, since you've heard me laugh."

"Yeah, it's been what – three years?"

"Something like that," she smiled. "So what's been going on in your life?"

She glanced down at his left hand, noting the absence of a wedding ring, though it didn't surprise her. James Kirk wasn't the marrying type.

"Oh, you know, wandering the quadrant, shaking hands, identifying anomalies, and sometimes fighting for my life."

"Not much has changed then?" she asked.

"I'm a little older, I like to _think_ a little wiser, and a little tired."

" _Tired_?"

"Five years is a long time to be out in deep space," he admitted. "It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but it wears on you. I don't blame you for leaving halfway through."

In hindsight, Carol wished she'd never left the mission, but it was like he said – it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Working with Dr. McCoy had been difficult, knowing she could never act on her feelings.

She'd poured her heart and soul into her protomatter experiments as a means of distraction, but her duties in Starfleet left her limited time to work on the technology. Feeling like she was drowning in a rut of one-sided affection and drudgery, she'd left the mission, left Starfleet, left Dr. McCoy, and committed herself to her work.

Time and distance had healed her of her infatuation with the _Enterprise_ 's Chief Medical Officer, but time and distance had also turned into a personal dead end.

"So where to now?" she asked, eager to keep the conversation from turning to her.

"They decided to give me a nice, cushy assignment at Starfleet Academy," he sighed. He snuck a look at her and smiled, adding, "Can you imagine, _Professor_ Kirk?"

She didn't even bother trying to hide her laugh this time. "What will you be teaching?"

"Command theory, ethics of leadership, some other stuff. They haven't given me all the details yet."

"Well, I'm sure you'll be brilliant. You always were good at talking, and you weren't too terrible with command," she teased.

"Thanks," he said, shooting her a quick grin before doling out another handful of birdseed to his avian entourage. "Anyway, what about you? How's things?"

"Oh, you know," she mumbled, pulling her hands from her pockets and crossing her arms over her chest. "Science and… work. The usual."

He twisted around on the bench, draping his arm over the back and studying her face. "Care to have a seat?

She grimaced and looked along the walking path, thinking a nap _definitely_ sounded good. Companionship sounded better though, even if it was with a man who unwittingly went out of his way to make her life entirely too complicated.

The metal bench still had a few water droplets from the morning's rain, but she slid onto it without complaint. They both stared straight ahead across the pond, unmoving and unspeaking.

An impatient hiss ruined the awkwardness and Carol looked down to see a fat goose gazing at Jim with an odd hatred that seemed unnatural for the animal kingdom. She grabbed a handful of seeds from the bag in his lap and tossed them on the ground and pandemonium ensued.

"I had no idea Canadian geese were so mean," she murmured.

" _Canada_ geese," he replied.

"Hmmm?"

"You said 'Canadian geese,' but they're actually 'Canada geese.' It's a minor point of difference, but… yeah…"

"I don't think so?" she mused, scratching her forehead.

"I'm pretty sure," he laughed.

" _No_ …" she insisted, wishing she had her PADD to look it up.

"Well, _you're_ the scientist," he joked.

"I'm _not_." The words leapt from her mouth, painfully and honestly.

"Huh? You're not what?"

"A scientist."

"What are you talking about, you-"

"No, everything went wrong," she stammered, feeling her heart sinking in her chest.

It only took a few minutes to explain the entire story about how she'd spent the last three years doing small-scale protomatter experiments and working on a grant proposal, only to be contacted by agents from Section 31 two months ago.

It then took nearly half an hour to unleash her thoughts and feelings on the importance of science for the good of civilization, her anger and disappointment about her father's actions, her despair as she destroyed all her files, her humiliation in addressing the Federation Science Council, and so much more.

He listened, never taking his eyes off her. By the end of her rant, she had the hiccups and tears dripping down her chin. He dumped the remainder of the seeds on the ground and shuffled closer to her on the bench. He held up his arm and said, "I don't have a tissue but you're welcome to use my sleeve."

He always knew how to say just the right thing to make her laugh. She dried her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan and tried to catch her breath.

"It sounds like you did the _right_ thing, Dr. Marcus," he said. "You need to find a way to be proud of yourself for that. And you're _still_ a scientist. Your career's not over, it's just-"

"It _is_ ," she sniffed. The _Federation_ Science Council agreed to fund my research and then I went back and told them, 'Oops, never mind.' I'll never be taken seriously again."

"It's not as bad as you think," he insisted. "I know too many people who respect you as a scientist – Spock, Bones, everyone on _Enterprise_ knows you're one of the best."

"I'm not _on Enterprise_ anymore," she reminded him. "I'm not even in Starfleet anymore."

"I can guarantee you that Starfleet would take you back in a heartbeat. I'd sign a recommendation for you myself, if you want."

She offered him a thin smile, marveling at just how blue his eyes were. "I'm grateful that you would try to help me, Jim, but I have a lot of soul-searching to do."

His expression softened. "You just called me Jim."

"Why yes, I suppose I did. So what?"

"You haven't called me Jim in… I can't even remember."

She leaned against the hard back of the bench and realized he was right. As her commanding officer, she'd always insisted on addressing him by his professional title, partly out of respect for his rank and the service, and partly from distancing herself from his feelings for her.

The communicator on his belt chirped, and he sighed and shifted his weight to pull it from its clip. "Kirk here."

" _Everyone's heading down to the Port of San Francisco a wee bit early, captain_ ," replied the familiar voice of Montgomery Scott through the mild hiss of static.

"Yeah, I'll be there," he replied. "Give me… thirty minutes. See you then. Kirk out."

He flipped the device closed and returned it to his belt, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and stared out over the pond.

"I don't want to keep you from your friends," she said, preparing to leave.

"Nah, it's ok. I've spent the last five years with most of them. I'm sure they'll get along just fine without me if I'm a little late."

"Won't your girlfriend be mad?" she probed.

He scoffed and sat up. "I haven't had a girlfriend in years, unless you count _Enterprise_."

"I don't believe that," she sneered playfully. "James Kirk without a woman warming his bed?"

"It's true," he said, his voice growing soft and serious. "There was only one woman I ever really wanted to be serious with, and she told me she'd trust me with her life, but not with her heart."

Her breath caught in her throat. Had he _really_ been alone all this time, wallowing in unrequited love? If she were being honest with herself, it wasn't _entirely_ unrequited. She loved James Kirk as a dear friend, and he _was_ handsome, and it _did_ seem like he'd matured a lot, but…

But _what_? She swallowed hard and looked across the pond, desperately searching for some kind of clarity. "It was right over there, you know."

"What?" he asked.

She pointed across the pond and squinted. "At least I _think_ it was right over there. It was New Year's Eve and you kissed me, or _tried_ to kiss me."

He groaned, tossing his head back to laugh. "Yeah, it was a pretty _terrible_ kiss."

"Yes, it was right here," she added, pointing to her jaw.

Her eyes fell on his mouth, examining the fullness of his lips and the twitch at the corners. Looking back on it, she wasn't sure why she did it, but moments later her lips were pressed to his. He was _warm_ , and as she slid her tongue along the part of his mouth, she enjoyed a slightly salty taste. He kissed her back tenderly, patiently, meeting his tongue to hers in a skilled fashion.

When she drew back to catch her breath, she was surprised to see shock and obvious affection on his face where she expected to see swagger and boyish charm. Why had she just done that?

"I was a terrible ice skater too," he added with a smirk, looking down at his lap and nodding.

She released her stunned anxiety in a nervous laugh. "Yes, you _were_."

"I love you, Carol," he said suddenly, locking his light blue eyes onto hers. "I've never stopped loving you. I don't think I'll _ever_ stop loving you. I know you think I'm an immature ass who doesn't respect women-"

"I love you too, Jim," she admitted for the first time, both to him and herself.

"What?" he choked.

"God that sounds so strange to say," she cackled. "And I think you respect women, at least _now_ you do, anyway. And I love you too. And I always have, in a way. I just never wanted to get my heart broken."

"No, I would _never_ \- I know I did things in the past- I've tried to make amends- I just- give me a chance," he pleaded, his voice growing frantic. "I would spend the rest of my life showing you that-"

"You sound like you're proposing," she interrupted, half horrified, half amused at the thought.

"Oh, _no_ , I didn't mean… Ugh, I really messed this up. Let me start over. Carol, I-"

Carol never found out what he wanted to say, because she felt compelled to interrupt his bumbling speech with another kiss.

_As she wound her hands through his hair, she marveled at the possibilities of second chances._


	8. 2265: Gaila & Pavel

**2265**

Gaila grazed her front teeth over her lower lip and scanned the bar. Nyota was supposed to be here five minutes ago, but it was a Friday night and there was more traffic than usual. She sighed and took another sip of her strawberry margarita.

"Hey beautiful, mind if I sit here?"

She grimaced, put on a fake smile, and wheeled around on her barstool to find the sort of man who would be her type if she were just looking for a one night stand – moderately good-looking, great smile, scruffy, and slightly drunk.

Gaila wasn't here to shop for men though. Sure, she still had fun but her years of turning on the Orion charm just to get the attention of every guy in the room were over. She'd grown up. She'd grown wiser. And she'd grown accustomed to being respected more for her mind than her sex appeal.

"I'm actually saving this seat for someone," she explained, setting her purse in it.

"I don't see anyone," the man replied, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol.

"That's why I said I'm saving it," she replied flatly. "If you actually  _saw_  someone, you probably wouldn't ask to sit here, because someone would already be sitting here."

"Yeah, whatever," the guy mumbled, walking away.

She nursed her margarita and continued to scan the room. A pair of lovers came in, a man with messy dark hair and olive skin and a blonde woman with warm blue eyes. Gaila enjoyed people watching, and these people were interesting because their body language was all over the place.

They moved like they were old friends, but there was hesitation. Perhaps they'd just received long-awaited good news and it still hadn't sunk in yet? No, Gaila didn't think so. More likely they'd just recently decided to take a leap and become more than friends. She could tell from his constant smiles and open posture that he was a lot more certain of her than she was of him, but the woman was still quite interested in her partner.

They were speaking at a normal volume, but because of the hum of the kitchen behind her and the low din of chatter throughout the establishment, she couldn't hear their words. She wasn't about to give up her great seat at the back of the room in the shadows facing the door but near the emergency exit to eavesdrop.

She relished in people watching, but she wasn't going to spy on people for no good reason. She got enough of that in her professional life.

Two years ago, Gaila had left Starfleet. That was the  _official_  version, anyway. Her life had changed when two men approached her at Deep Space K-7 and presented an opportunity to put her personality and unique skillset to work. That was the day when she learned about Section 31, the covert detachment within Starfleet that did the things Starfleet could never openly do.

Gaila had made an attractive recruit – few people would suspect an Orion woman of working with Starfleet. In less than two years, she'd worked her way through the ranks to become third in command of her cell and was poised to snag the senior spot next year.

She had a rare talent for this kind of work. She had an incredible knack for intuition and deduction – her supervisor often referred to her as the "Green Sherlock Holmes." Orion pheromones also made a powerful ally during interrogations. Gaila had never laid a hand on anyone, nor had she ever been forced to make threats. Gaila got answers out of people simply by striking up a conversation and turning on the charm.

Section 31 didn't  _theoretically_  exist, though it was widely discussed as a conspiracy theory throughout Starfleet and the Federation bureaucracy. It was treated more as a joke than anything else. Low-level politicians who tried to claim it was real were mocked and the only people who would publish "proof" of the agency's existence were the less-than-reputable sources like the Daily Enquirer or Truth Vent.

Both of those news agencies were operated by Section 31. Gaila had even ghostwritten a couple of articles – she'd been slightly drunk the night she penned the harrowing account of an unidentified Tellarite man running from the Dragon Man of New Vulcan.

Unfortunately most of her work wasn't light-hearted or fun. She'd been captured and tortured by Romulans three months ago in a botched attempt to get a message through the Orion Syndicate to a man she was trying to recruit to assassinate the Praetor of the Romulan Star Empire. So much of her work walked a fine line of ethics and morality, and many days Gaila struggled to find meaning in the bad things she did. She wasn't a bad person, but sometimes she had to ask herself what a bad person would do, and then she had to  _do_  those things. It was hard.

But she'd done a lot of good, too. She couldn't forget about the good. Just last month she'd snuck across the Klingon border and averted a war by retrieving a lost space mine prototype that the Andorians had lost over 200 years ago. She'd saved countless Orion women from slave trafficking. She'd uncovered a terrorist plot to detonate a bomb at the Federation Council building. So much good.

But the universe wasn't just good and evil – morality was complex. She heard a distinct slurping sound and realized she'd come to the end of her fruity margarita. Shame. She always limited herself to one drink, because it just wouldn't do to get completely hammered and roam around in public with the kind of knowledge she carried around in her head.

She went back to watching her couple, turning her attention to them just in time to see a human man and a Roylan join them. She squinted and observed their interaction more carefully – they'd been expecting company, but they were still disappointed at the interruption.

"Let's git everybody a round o' drinks!" the blond man cried.

An odd accent. Scottish, she believed, though there were so many different human dialects that sometimes they could be difficult to tease apart. There was a flicker of movement in her periphery and when she identified the source, her heart skipped a beat and she instinctively sat back on her stool to slink further into the shadowy corner of the bar.

James Tiberius Kirk. He came in with a human woman, almost as blonde and beautiful as he was. Where she'd had her doubts about the other couple, the dynamics between Jim and this woman were undeniable: they were smitten with each other.

Gaila didn't really mind; she was happy for him. She'd loved him once but Nyota had been right about him at the Academy – back then he'd been a spoiled man-child. He'd been right about her too though: she used people to get what she wanted. It had been a rude awakening, but in the years since her falling out with James Kirk, she'd grown up a lot and learned many times over that some of the noblest people were capable of the worst cruelty. One of the gentlest, kindest people she'd ever met was a Suliban drug lord.

Everything came back to that same old problem she struggled with every day…  _moral complexity_. Jim Kirk was a great friend and apparently a great Starfleet captain, but he was over confident and manipulated women. It didn't mean he was a bad person, it just meant he was flawed like everyone else.

She glanced at the clock above the door and scowled. It was 2219 hours and Nyota was now 19 minutes late. Traffic or not, surely that fastidious Vulcan boyfriend of hers would have insisted on punctuality.

"Hello, Gaila."

She jumped and swiveled around on the hard seat but she already knew who she would find standing just to her left. The accent was unmistakable.

" _Pavel Chekov_ ," she replied, unable to hide her grin. "You snuck up on me out of nowhere."

He was taller than when she'd seen him last and his face had filled out and even learned to sprout a patchy beard. He never lost the awkward boyish smile, but he was definitely a man now.

"You know my name," he replied, stuffing his hands in his pocket and shifting his weight on his feet.

"Yes, and I have a bone to pick with you about that," she scolded.

"What do you mean?"

"All those years you let me call you Pavlov. I only found out your name at graduation because you were the valedictorian. I looked like a real asshole and you never corrected me."

He chuckled to himself and briefly looked at the tips of his shoes. Vibrant color raced through his pale cheeks and Gaila smiled. Despite the blushing, it was obvious he wasn't the same bashful teenager who used to help her with her homework. What had he been up to all these years?

She started to analyze his clothing and posture for clues but quickly stopped. Why not just find out like normal people and strike up a conversation with him?

"Wanna have a seat?" she grinned, setting her foot on the chair across from her and pushing it outward.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked seriously.

She studied her empty margarita glass and held an internal debate. She could have one more drink, a light beer perhaps, and she could sip it slowly. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Pavel? What kind of girl do you think I am?"

He locked eyes with her and without hesitation answered, "Ze best kind."

It was Gaila's turn to blush. It had been  _years_  since a smooth talking man had gotten her flustered. What  _had_  Pavel Chekov learned about women since she'd seen him last? She was dying to know, but unfortunately, she was interrupted before she could find out.

"Gaila!"

Her eyes darted across the room to the door to see Nyota waving cheerfully in her direction.  _Now_  she decided to show up and of course, Mr. Dorky Bowl Haircut himself, Commander Spock, was right behind her, looking all kinds of unimpressed and awkward.

"I was actually supposed to be meeting an old friend of mine from the Academy," she explained with a heavy sigh.

"Am I not an old friend?" he winked, twisting in his chair to acknowledge Nyota who was working her way through the crowded bar toward their table.

"Oh my God, Gaila, how have you been?" Nyota exclaimed.

" _Busy_ ," she laughed. "You?"

"Ugh, same!" Nyota sighed. "It's so great to be back."

They released one another from their prolonged embrace. Gaila caught Spock's eye and nodded deferentially. "How are you, Commander?"

"I am in good health," he remarked simply, nodding as he spoke.

Gaila looked back and forth between them, both shocked and not shocked at the fact that they were still together. When she'd first found out her roommate was dating Professor Spock all those years ago, she'd chalked it up to a bizarre crush, some weird boring fetish. How wrong she'd been.

Nyota was clearly happy with Spock and Gaila was happy for her. Of course, it was much easier to be happy for Nyota and feel some goodwill toward Spock now that Gaila was no longer his student and failing his classes.

"We have a group forming over there," Nyota said, pointing to the table with the people Gaila had been watching. "Do you want to come join us?"

She considered Jim, who was in the middle of regaling the group with a fantastic story that apparently required him to swing his arms around wildly, much to the delight of his audience. It would be strange talking to him after all this time, considering the last time she'd spoken to him had been during their confrontation in the hallway after she'd been accused of hacking the  _Kobayashi Maru_  simulator.

Nyota looked over her shoulder and Jim and frowned. "I  _completely_  forgot; I'm sorry. We can-"

"It's actually fine," Gaila interrupted. "Really. The stuff with Jim was years ago. Let's go."

She was soon introduced to a dozen people from  _Enterprise_. The couple she'd been observing turned out to be the chief medical officer and the head nurse, Leonard and Christine, and upon closer inspection, they were  _definitely_  a couple, even if they didn't realize it yet. The man with the Scottish accent was conveniently called "Scotty" and his Roylan companion was Keenser. She met Charlene and M'Ress and Hikaru. The blonde woman who was clearly enamored with Jim turned out to be Carol, and as always, Jim was Jim.

He fell silent when she arrived at the table with Pavel, Spock, and Nyota. In an awkward twist of fate, she ended up sitting on his left and for a long time, they engaged in a tense, silent détente as she listened to marvelous stories of the crew's adventures over the past five years.

When Carol excused herself to buy everyone a round of drinks, Jim finally leaned over and whispered, "It's good to see you again, Gaila."

"You too," she replied softly.

"Somehow I don't believe you," he chuckled.

"You should. You look good. You look  _happy_."

"Look, I did a lot of things I'm not really proud of back-"

"I know what you're going to say," she interrupted him. "I got over it a long time ago. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of too."

He furrowed his brow and nodded. He cleared his throat and asked, "So what have you been up to?"

"I left Starfleet two years ago and got a job at a café. It's a quiet life but I really enjoy the pace of it."

It wasn't the most interesting cover story, but it was reliable and never invited too many questions. And there really  _was_  a café on the ground floor of her apartment complex and she'd even made a deal with the manager to clear tables on slow evenings a couple nights a month when she was at home, just in case anyone looked into her situation too closely.

"But what about  _you_?" she continued, folding her hands on the table and grinning. "What are  _your_  plans, now that this five year mission is done?"

He started telling her all about his future assignment to teach at Starfleet Academy and Gaila smiled inwardly. Most people loved to talk about themselves and Jim Kirk was no exception.

Gaila enjoyed several more hours of great conversation. She caught up with Nyota, joked with Christine about dating doctors, played a slight of hand game with Keenser, and sang a Scottish ballad with the  _Enterprise's_  chief engineer. The one person she didn't get to talk to was Pavel, who had been forced to take a seat at the opposite end of the table.

When Leonard and Christine excused themselves for the evening, the others began to follow suit. Charlene and M'Ress left together, then Spock and Nyota agreed to share a cab with Jim and Carol and soon, it was just her and Pavel watching Scotty and Keenser drunkenly lob darts at the wall.

"Would you like to get out of here?" she asked, offering him a warm smile.

"And go where?"

"My apartment is just two blocks from here."

His right eyebrow flicked upward but Gaila didn't flinch. Taking a guy back to her apartment didn't mean she was going to sleep with him, but it  _had_  been a long time since she'd had any fun, and Pavel  _was_  handsome, and… she stopped herself. He deserved better than a quick fling. So did  _she_. But unfortunately, the nature of her work didn't leave a whole lot of room for romance. Having people she cared about was  _dangerous_ , even.

"I can make some coffee," she added. "In case you were thinking I was talking about something else."

"Zat sounds fine," he grinned.

They left the bar and set out on foot toward her apartment, a small dive on the corner of 79th street above the Cactus Café. It was a quiet stroll at first, until Pavel broke the silence.

"You told me once zat ze galaxy was full of beautiful women who deserved me more than you did. You told me to go find them."

She laughed. "I don't remember, but that sounds like something I would have said."

A low rumble of thunder rang through the night air. It looked like it was going to rain again.

"Well, I haven't been all over ze galaxy, but I also haven't found anyone fitting zat description. Only you."

She grimaced. "Pavel, do you think I used you back at the Academy?"

"Yes," he replied. "But I didn't mind back then. I was young and stupid."

"You might have been young but I don't think you were ever stupid," she retorted. "And I didn't mind either, back  _then_. But I mind  _now_."

Fat raindrops began to slap the warm pavement, sending little spirals of steam up from the ground. She could see her apartment building up ahead and lengthened her stride. It was pouring by the time they made it to the downstairs front entry, and as Gaila fumbled in her bag for her access card, he asked, "Why did you invite me to your apartment tonight?"

She froze and chewed her bottom lip before replying, "I've been lonely for a long time. I have a lot of friends, but I'm really lonely."

He nodded. They were both getting drenched and his tight blond curls were beginning to stick to his forehead.

"Why did you agree to come?" she added.

"For the same reason," he confessed. "I am captivated by you, Gaila. I always have been."

She took a half step toward him and studied his dark blue eyes. "I don't want to hurt you," she sighed.

"Thank you?" he laughed.

"No, I mean, I'm not in the mood for a casual fling and don't have time for relationships right now. My life is very… complicated."

"I understand," he muttered.

"No, you really don't."

"Why don't you explain it to me over ze coffee you promised me?"

She scowled and cocked her head. She really didn't want to get hurt, but more importantly, she didn't want to hurt  _him_. Against her better judgment, they were soon riding the turbolift to her fourth floor apartment in silence. When they entered the apartment, she activated the lights and studied his face.

She wasn't exactly sure how they ended up kissing, or who started undressing who first, but soon there was a trail of clothing leading to her bed. Half an hour later, they were both out of breath and snuggled under her light blue comforter. It felt so good to be so close to another person, but she felt so  _guilty_ , feeling like she could never deserve someone half as good as Pavel Chekov.

He brushed a thick strand of her red hair out of her face and whispered, "You are lovely, Gaila."

"Don't say that," she replied, closing her eyes and chewing the tip of her tongue.

"You are."

"I've done a lot of ugly things," she replied, her voice faltering.

"We all have."

"Not like me."

"Whatever you think it is, it's not zat bad."

"You don't even know me," she snapped.

"I know you better zan you think."

"But you  _don't_ ," she whispered bitterly.

"I  _do_ ," he insisted. "Gaila, who do you think recommended you two years ago?"

She blinked several times, unable to take her eyes off of him. Pavel Chekov was in Section 31? " _No_. I don't believe it."

"It's ze truth. I told you I know what it's like to have a lot of friends and be lonely. I don't want to be lonely anymore."

She felt his hand wrap around hers and felt her heart surge in her chest. He leaned forward and kissed her and for the first time in a very long time, she felt hopeful and free. Getting involved with another Section 31 agent was stupid and tantamount to career suicide, if not possibly  _literal_  suicide, but for some strange reason, Gaila didn't care.

_What a tangled, messy web life had turned out to be._


	9. 2270: Happily Ever After

**2270**

Leonard pulled at the tight collar of the dress uniform and studied his reflection in the mirror. He dipped his fingers into the tin of pomade he'd brought and brushed it through his hair, combing it repeatedly until it would submit to his will. One of these days, he was just going to shave that stupid cowlick off.

A crash at the back of the supply locker made him stand up straight. He raised an eyebrow and went to investigate.

"Sorry, Dr. McCoy," said a high-pitched, sullen voice.

Behind several towers of cargo containers, he found Lyra, Spock and Nyota's four year-old daughter, clutching a PADD. Despite the fact that she'd been fortunate enough to get most of her mother's looks, she wore her face in a neutral expression that also made her look exactly like her father.

Leonard bent down on one knee, feeling the press of his trousers into his gut and thinking he'd probably put on some weight. "Why are you in here, Lyra?"

"I was not aware these were your private quarters."

He looked around the supply locker and smirked. "They aren't, I'm just getting ready in here."

"Yes, congratulations on your impending nuptials," she said.

Leonard blinked and stifled a laugh. Not even five years old, and she  _sounded_  a lot like her father too.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hiding in here," he teased, shifting his weight to take a seat on the floor beside her.

"They're  _awful_ ," she proclaimed, finally breaking her placid Vulcan exterior.

"Oh, that doesn't sound very logical," he argued, harboring a sneaking suspicion she was talking about Chekov's three year-old twins.

"Neither are  _they_."

As if on cue, the door to the supply locker sprung open and the sounds of giggling and panting could be heard in the hallway. Leonard rose to his feet and peeked around the supply containers to see Chekov spinning in circles just outside in the supply closet, swinging his son Victor by his wrists.

"More more more!" cried the tot. " _Faster_!"

"Papa is getting wery tired," Chekov sighed breathlessly, gently setting him down on the ground.

"My turn! My turn!" shrieked Anna, Victor's twin sister.

"That looks like fun," Leonard shrugged, glancing back at Lyra, who had returned to studying the finer points of elementary geometry on her PADD.

"I have no interest in becoming a demonstration of centrifugal force," she remarked, not bothering to look up from her PADD.

"Are you sure it isn't centripetal force?" he teased.

She glanced up from her PADD, narrowed her eyes, and said, " _Yes_." Then she went back to reading.

It was startling how much the atmosphere of the ship had changed over the years. Spock and Uhura were married with a kid, Chekov had married an Orion girl from his days back at Starfleet Academy and they'd had a couple of curtain climbers, and even Jim and Carol had a baby on the way who was due any day now. Christine had casually mentioned on more than one occasion having one or two little rugrats of their own.

What a wild idea. His daughter Joanna would be twenty soon and as much as he hated the fact that his professional life and bad blood with her mother had kept them apart for so many years, he'd always done his best to be a father to her when he could. The idea of doing it all over again and actually being involved in a child's life made him feel both extremely old and extremely young.

He'd told her he'd think about it, but he already knew he'd give in. He loved Christine and he loved kids. The timing could be better, but he figured the timing could always be better.

They were getting ready to embark on another five-year mission and now that families had been approved to accompany Starfleet personnel on deep space assignments, things were going to be a lot more hectic than before. How had he let Christine talk him into joining this nutty adventure a second time? Better yet, how had he talked her into marrying him?

He glanced at the small clock at the top of Lyra's PADD. Speaking of which, he was due to get married in about ten minutes.

Leonard rose to his feet and sucked in his gut. Lyra glanced at him casually and said, "It appears to be time."

"Yes it does," he agreed, extending a hand to help her to her feet.

"Zere you are, Dr. McCoy," Chekov called. "Ze keptin vas looking for you."

Anna and Victor squealed with delight when they saw Lyra, and Lyra visibly stiffened at their unfettered exuberance. Leonard and Chekov ushered the three kids out of the supply locker and into the corridor and headed toward Cargo Bay 1.

Christine had only wanted a very simple ceremony, but the close friendships they'd formed on  _Enterprise_  over the years made having a small wedding in one of the nicer briefing rooms nearly impossible. By the time they'd invited their friends from sickbay and the bridge and everyone else, they had a guest list of more than 300 people.

They'd considered having the ceremony at the courthouse in San Francisco, but Jim had been so insistent on marrying them, claiming the ability to perform marriages was the best part of being a starship captain. When Leonard really thought about it, it seemed fitting to get married by his best friend on board the ship that had become like a home to him, surrounded by crewmembers that were like family. It also hadn't taken long for him to realize the only person who could ever be his best man was Spock, even if he was an irritating green-blooded know-it-all at times.

Chekov took the children into the cargo bay to get them seated, but Leonard paused outside to collect himself.

"Oh good, it hasn't started yet," called a pleasant voice from around the bend in the corridor. Carol came waddling into view, out of breath and clutching her bulging stomach. "Sorry, I had to make an emergency trip to the loo. Has Christine already gone in?"

Her face was pale but her lips were twisted into a pained smile.

"Bathroom breaks are understandable," Leonard agreed, before looking more closely at her sweaty face and asking, "Are you ok?"

"I'm nine months pregnant," she scowled, massaging her back. "I'll be much better when the young Master Kirk decides to vacate the premises."

"Carol, I think you should get to sickbay," he told her.

"I think I can make it through the next twenty minutes," she gasped, giving him a broad, fake smile. "I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world. Now, I need to go find your lovely bride and the rest of the wedding party."

He growled to himself but nodded as he watched her slink into the storage locker adjacent to the cargo bay. Carol was due in sickbay for an exam tomorrow, but he was starting to suspect she was already in the early stages of labor. Still, she was right: she probably wasn't going to give birth in the next half hour. More people trickled in and offered Leonard their congratulations, and he was just about to make his way inside when a playful voice called out at the opposite end of the corridor.

"You ready to do this, Bones?"

He turned to see Jim and Spock approaching, both outfitted in their standard dress uniforms. He swallowed hard and laughed. He was getting married again. How had it come to this?

Several minutes later, he was holding Christine's hands and Jim was standing between them, grinning from ear to ear and rocking back onto his heels in anticipation. Spock and Dr. M'Benga stood to Leonard's left shoulder, and Carol and Nyota waited behind Christine.

She was so beautiful. He felt lost in the moment. She'd opted for a proper wedding dress instead of her Starfleet uniform. A short veil hung over her face and tickled her chin. Her dark blue eyes had never appeared more vibrant. How he'd talked this woman into loving him, he'd never know.

"Well, I think we all know why we're gathered here today," Jim began, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

A ripple of polite laughter rang out through the hundreds of seats lined up in the cargo bay.

"I am thrilled to be here to marry Leonard, my best friend, and Christine, the love of his life. I was so honored when Leonard asked me to officiate this wedding-"

"I didn't ask," Leonard reminded him. "You told me you were going to do it whether I liked it or not."

The laughter from the guests was more sincere this time. Jim grinned and blushed, gently fingering the hem of the jacket of his dress uniform.

"Oh right," Jim laughed. "Either way, Leonard asked me to keep the gushy stuff to a minimum and we leave space dock for our continuing five year mission in less than twelve hours, so let's get this party started, shall we?"

Leonard turned his focus back to Christine, who was shaking her head and smiling. They made eye contact and his heart skipped a beat. He felt a crooked smile sneak onto his face and when she mouthed the words, "I love you," it transformed into a giant, nervous grin.

"Do you Leonard, take Christine as your wife, pledging to share your life openly-"

He was cut short by a sharp, audible gasp from behind Christine, followed by the sound of splashing. Leonard didn't have to look over his bride-to-be's shoulder to know what had happened: Carol's water had broken.

"Well, this is rather embarrassing," Carol gasped, clutching her stomach and looking around frantically.

He and Christine instantly let go of one another's hands and turned to Carol, whose face was contorted into a look of abject shock. There was quite a bit of murmuring beginning among the guests, along with a few laughs, cheers, and wishes of good luck.

"Anyone have a communicator?" Leonard grumbled, surveying the group. "Someone call sickbay, dammit."

Leonard saw Spock flip open a device out of the corner of his eye and call for a site-to-site transport. Christine and Nyota were trying to coax Carol into a sitting position and Jim was wringing his hands anxiously.

"Oh my God! She's having a baby! I'm a baby! We're having a baby!"

"You catch on fast," Leonard scowled.

"Oh my God, what do I do, Bones?" Jim asked, gripping his wrist hard enough Leonard was sure he was going to break it.

Leonard rubbed his face with his free left and looked at the women sitting on the ground. "I don't think there's much for you to do right now, Jim."

"I'm so sorry," Carol continued to plead through a stream of tears.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Christine insisted. "Besides, it wouldn't be a proper  _Enterprise_  event without a few added complications and excitement."

Christine twisted around and made eye contact with him and winked. There were worse things that could disturb his wedding than the birth of his best friend's first child, he supposed, and Christine's response to this odd interruption only made him love her more.

She was so beautiful, inside and out.

* * *

Jim paced frantically in the sickbay waiting room. He was exhausted and more anxious than he'd ever been. Who knew babies could take so long to be born?

It had been seventeen hours since she'd gone into labor and thirty minutes ago, she'd begged him to go get some fresh air before he drove her crazy with his anxiety. Both Bones and Nurse Chapel – soon to be Nurse McCoy – had endorsed this idea, claiming he was setting them on edge too.

Their mission had officially begun five hours ago and thankfully Spock had taken command. It hadn't seemed right to pass the torch before they'd even gotten underway, but he couldn't leave her. Not when she needed him.

"Are you ok, keptin?" asked a calm voice behind him. "How is she doing?"

He saw Lieutenant Chekov waiting at the sickbay entrance. Jim cleared his throat, rubbed his hands through his hair, and slumped into one of the hard plastic seats. "They say she's doing fine and everything's going well, but this is more stressful than dealing with the Tholians."

Chekov smirked and slid into the chair next to him. "When Wictor and Anna were born, it took two days."

" _What_?" he choked. " _Days_? She could be doing this for  _days_?"

Chekov shrugged and nodded.

"What am I doing?" Jim sighed, slumping against the back of the chair.

"I do not know how you mean," Chekov replied.

"This whole fatherhood business, I guess it's really starting to hit me."

"Mine are more zan three years old, and I still get zose feelings."

"How am I supposed to raise this whole new person and be a dad?" he asked, feeling the crushing weight of reality come down on his shoulders with more force than ever before.

"No one has ze answer to zat question," Chekov insisted.

As a starship captain, he thought he understood responsibility, especially the kind that entrusted him with the lives of others, but this was something else. For the rest of his life, there would be someone looking to him for all the answers, and what if he didn't have them?

He'd spent a lot of sleepless nights lying next to Carol, watching her belly slowly expand over the months and wondering what kind of father he would be. It made him think of his own father, which only made him more certain that he would do anything to keep his own child from knowing the pain of growing up without a male role model.

It made him wonder how it would affect his career. He didn't care about how having a family would impact his assignments and career trajectory, no, what he cared about was having a career that ensured he would come home to his family at the end of the day.

He'd wanted to resign his commission the day she told him she was pregnant, but she'd laughed and asked if he had lost his mind. She'd taken another commission in Starfleet and they'd spent the last four years teaching together at the Academy, and she'd told him in no uncertain terms that he was free to do as he liked, but she didn't plan on hanging up her uniform any time soon, baby or no baby.

"I believe you vill do what you have always done," Chekov finally added, resting his hand on his shoulder. "You vill figure it out. I know vhat it's like, to feel impossibly lucky and vorry one day, it vill all just disappear."

A nervous laugh escaped Jim's lips. "Thanks, Chekov. I'm glad you agreed to stay on board  _Enterprise_. You never did tell me what other assignment you were considering, but I'm glad you changed your mind."

"My children changed my mind," he shrugged. "I need something stable for zem."

"And a five year mission to uncharted space is  _more_  stable than the assignment you were looking at?"

Chekov grinned and nodded. A sudden scream echoed down the corridor, chilling his blood and making his hairs stand on end.

"Where's Jim? Someone please get him!" Carol cried. "He needs to be here!"

Jim leapt to his feet and without another word to Chekov, sprinted down the narrow hall of sickbay and found Carol, red faced and crying with her knees pulled up to her chest and Bones sitting on a stool at the end of the inclined bed.

"Are you ready to push, Carol?" Christine asked, gripping her hand.

" _Jim_ ," Carol wailed, reaching out to him.

Jim began to feel dizzy as he stumbled forward and took Carol's free hand.

"Hey, welcome to the fun," Bones exclaimed, looking up.

"Shut up!" Carol screamed, glancing down at the doctor between her legs.

The next twenty minutes were a bloody mess full of tears and shouting and encouragement. He was sure she'd managed to break the bones in his left hand, but it all stopped mattering the moment he heard a soft, muffled whimper that quickly crescendoed into high-pitched wailing.

"It's a boy!" Bones cheered, turning the tiny human around in his hands to show him to his parents.

Jim couldn't see. His vision was going blurry and he eventually figured out he was crying. So was Carol. So was their new baby boy. What a mess they all were. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, noting the salt from her sweat and the trembling of her body.

"We have a son," she laughed.

"Yeah," he replied, barely able to choke out the word.

Bones set the baby on her chest and they both looked down at the new person they'd made and started sobbing all over again. Who knew fingers could be so tiny?

Time started to pass by in a blur and when Nurse Chapel swept the baby up to clean him and get some measurements, Jim was torn between staying with Carol and following the nurse around like a hawk. At Carol's suggestion, he chose the latter.

Later when he would tell the story, he would always make the same joke about Christine's patience with him in those first minutes following his son's birth, but at the time, it had seemed like the most reasonable thing. When Christine finally swaddled him back up and returned him to his mother, Jim sat near the edge of the bed, unwilling to miss a moment of the miraculous experience.

"What are we going to call him?" Carol whispered, clutching Jim's hand. They'd discussed several names, but none had ever seemed right.

"Leonard's a good name," called Bones from the corner of the room where he was updating Carol's chart. "Just saying."

" _Leonard_ ," Christine snapped from the back of the room. "Don't ruin their moment."

"Hey, they crashed our wedding," he teased. "It's the least they can do."

"You're already going to be his godparents," Jim sighed, shaking his head and smiling.

"I was thinking David was a nice name," Carol said, looking back at him.

Jim studied the tiny face protruding from the blanket in Carol's arms. He was fast asleep and impossibly small.

"Don't you like it?" she asked nervously, clutching his hand.

"No, I think David is just right," he smiled, squeezing her hand for reassurance before trying the name out for himself. "David Kirk. Dave Kirk. I think it's good."

She grinned and he leaned in to kiss her and brush a tendril of hair away from her face. "Can I hold him?"

"Oh my God, yes," she sniffed, shifting in the bed hand over their son. "Watch his head."

No one had bothered to invent words for what he was feeling as he lifted the tiny bundle out of her arms. As he gazed at the face of his son, he felt all the fears and worries of the last months slipping away. They would never fade entirely, but David represented something that felt like a second chance.

"You've come a long way," Carol murmured, patting his arm.

" _We've_  come a long way," he replied. " _All_  of us."


End file.
